


Brought Low

by gfzoda



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Anxiety Disorder, Asshole Thorin, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Kink Meme, M/M, More tags to come!, Past Abuse, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-21
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2017-12-15 17:01:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 49,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/851891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gfzoda/pseuds/gfzoda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fill for the kink meme prompt asking for Bilbo dealing with his feelings for Thorin after having a very bad run-in with relationships beforehand (the exact prompt can be found in the notes!). Somehow, this turned into a retelling of The Hobbit where Bilbo has a few anxiety issues plus a past relationship gone wrong and somehow in the process falls ass over ankles for a certain pissy Dwarf king.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Drag (and not the fun kind)

**Author's Note:**

> OK! So this is my first multi-chapter fanfiction and my first fanfiction on ao3! Please be patient with any writers block I may run into or issues I have with getting the formatting right. Also, note that this chapter (and quite a few of the following) contains emotional, physical and psychological abuse, along with some depressive thoughts, so if you find these topics triggering, please read with caution.
> 
> The original prompt over at the kink meme is http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/2235.html?thread=2875579#t2875579
> 
> Note that I do not have a beta reader (as much as I would love that) so any mistakes are mine and mine alone.

Sadoc Banks was a large hobbit; he stood a good three to four inches over Bilbo and was muscled in the way that farmhands usually were. He was passionate about everything he spoke of and had a down-to-earth charm that, to the gentlehobbit that Bilbo was, was enticing in a way that his relatives, friends, and books never were. Despite the scoffing of his Baggins’ sensibilities (and his Baggins relations), Bilbo loved their time together and even after they had separated, he often missed these traits of Sadoc’s.

They did not start out like they ended. They met when Bilbo was 38, coming into his Baggins’ maturity but not having lost his Took-borne coltishness. Bilbo had decided to try his hand at fishing for his supper on the shores of the river a few stone throws away from Bywater Pool, but had soon gotten bored with this and picked up a book he had brought for good measure. Bilbo had been startled out of the tome by Sadoc (then a stranger) leaning over his shoulder and saying that while he was sure the history of the Elves was fascinating, he had a bite and if he didn’t pull it in then he would probably be supper-less. 

Bilbo had laughed, did what Sadoc suggested, and invited him to supper as a thank you. Later that evening after Belladonna had retired to bed, they talked well into the night about anything and everything that came to mind. Bilbo had never been so at ease with someone who wasn’t family and to have someone not expect him to be a proper Baggins of Bag End had been refreshing. 

Sadoc would later say that Bilbo was so interesting and beautiful that he would have been a fool to refuse the invitation.

And so their courtship began. Picnic lunches turned into parties attended together which turned into longer and longer evenings spent in each other’s company. Sadoc quickly became precious to Bilbo and even though his mother was worried about the pace of the relationship, Belladonna was glad for Bilbo to find someone in the wake of his father’s death. For three months what Bilbo and Sadoc had was healthy and growing until then he received a letter from Sadoc that contained a raving confession.

Within the many pages Sadoc spelled out that he did not find himself worthy of Bilbo because of Bilbo's high social standing and intelligence and that himself being just a simple farmhand he had no right even thinking of someone like Bilbo as his own— 

At this, Bilbo had stopped reading and ran the entire way to Sadoc’s smial only to find that he was out working in the fields. Sadoc returned to Bilbo sitting outside of his door frantically reading the letter over and over, looking for any sign that Sadoc was thinking of ending their relationship. Bilbo had nearly collapsed against his chest, comfort and worries bubbling from his lips and leaving a trail behind him as Sadoc ushered Bilbo in through his front door away from the prying eyes of neighbors. The following night was filled with hasty confessions of love and reassurances that fell easily from Bilbo’s mouth and touches that grew more and more intimate until the next morning Bilbo awoke in Sadoc’s bed with a soreness he had never experienced before.

A month later, Bilbo received another letter of the same nature. Then another one the next month. And then the next. Bilbo was at a loss as to where Sadoc’s insecurities came from since every time he received one of these letters Bilbo was sure to rush to Sadoc’s side and assure him in the manner that the first letter had sparked.

It was during this forth letter’s visit that Sadoc had asked Bilbo to try living together. Bilbo had agreed almost unthinkingly and soon enough Bilbo was tending to _their_ garden, sorting through _their_ mail and puttering around _their_ kitchen. Every day Bilbo found out something new about Sadoc and every day he found himself on the receiving end of no small amount of affection.

And it was wonderful. It was exhilarating. It was everything Bilbo dreamed of, until it wasn’t.

As he and Sadoc settled into their life together, Bilbo began to find some small things amiss. It started off as Sadoc dismissing Bilbo’s opinions on everything from the state of the crops that month to neighborly gossip. Sadoc always had a reason to oppose Bilbo’s arguments and when he didn't he was willing to agree to disagree, but would always revisit the issue with increasing spite until Bilbo conceded. Bilbo understood that Sadoc had strong opinions and he respected that, but why Sadoc couldn’t respect his, he could never quite grasp. 

As the weeks rolled by, Sadoc slowly reached new levels of pessimism and a sharp tongue to go with it. Everything had faults, the tools he had used that day, the Thain’s weekly address, the neighbor’s garden, the book that Bilbo had picked up in town that week. Everything was just awful except for Bilbo and Sadoc. Bilbo occasionally tried to talk Sadoc out of this mindset, worried that this couldn’t be healthy, but his efforts were met with snapping annoyance. 

After each of these fits though, Sadoc would always come back mumbling apologies into Bilbo’s neck and Bilbo would be buried under affection enough to make him forget why he was originally upset.

But then Bilbo began to become part of Sadoc’s anger. At first it was little things; the way he dressed, the state of the garden he tended to or the habit Bilbo had of mussing up his hair when he was distressed. Then Sadoc pointed out that the way he talked to Mrs. Regina Greenhand had become too friendly, the meal he made that night was not good enough, , Bilbo had taken too much time at the market this week, that Bilbo did not openly scorn everything Sadoc did was foolish and so on.

When faced with these accusations, Bilbo was filled with shame. How had he gone from someone that Sadoc loved without reservation to someone under this much suspicion? What had changed in him to cause this?

Sadoc and Bilbo’s bond reached a turning point one mild autumn night when Belladonna came to visit them. Somehow, the topic of Bungo Baggins came up and Bilbo and Belladonna were content to reminisce until late. After she left though, Sadoc felt it necessary to comment that talking about Bungo after he had passed would do nothing to bring him back. Bilbo was stunned and immediately replied that Sadoc had no place saying anything about his father. Things escalated from there until they were full-out yelling at each other.

Then something snapped in Sadoc and Bilbo felt a palm crack against his cheek.

Contrary to the popular belief, the slap did not echo around the smial, the world did not freeze around them, and Sadoc continued to scream that Bilbo was doing him a great disservice by contradicting him. Bilbo stayed silent and wide-eyed until Sadoc stormed out of the front door, not even seeming to notice what he did.

When Sadoc came back later in the evening, he climbed into bed as if nothing had happened and the incident was never mentioned. But Bilbo stayed up that night staring at the ceiling replaying the incident almost obsessively.

It was after this point that his and Sadoc’s relationship took a turn towards bitter. Sadoc’s digs at everything Bilbo began to dig a little deeper; Bilbo slowly became unattractive, useless, and a disappointment all together to Sadoc. Sadoc became someone that Bilbo dreaded coming home to but would try so hard to appeal to, just to temper his anger. Slaps began to pepper their arguments, never across the face like the first one, but became harder and harder until there were times where punches were thrown at Bilbo. But Bilbo did not— and perhaps in a manner could not— find it in himself to react with the same discourtesy because after all, he had promised himself to Sadoc.

Besides, every dig and every slap was followed by a reason or a dismissal or (with increasing rarity) affection, so Sadoc wasn’t lashing out unprompted or unexplained. However, Bilbo felt himself unable to predict Sadoc’s fits and there were many nights where he lay awake in their bed wondering how he had changed so much that the same hobbit who said he would have been a fool to refuse Bilbo’s invite to dinner now could barely go a day without insulting him. He began to ponder what he could do to make this last? Who did he have to become? Who was he other than Sadoc’s partner?

Finally Sadoc had had enough, and after a spectacular episode on Sadoc’s part, he demanded that Bilbo leave and said that he had found someone else who was willing to be reasonable, to just _listen _to him, and to pay attention to what he wanted. In retrospect, Bilbo was stunned that Sadoc had managed to find another hobbit and still feel the need to control Bilbo’s every move inside and outside of his sight. Sadoc gave him a few hours to collect his belongings, and before Bilbo’s head stopped spinning, he was outside of his mother’s door in his 42nd year surrounded by a few boxes of belongings, waiting for her to return from her monthly dinner with the Chubb family.__

When Belladonna slowly ambled up Bag Shot row and found her son, all she had done was grasp him as only a mother can while he sobbed into her shoulder.

After returning home, Bilbo had expected an uproar in the Shire, but gossip surrounding him and Sadoc was almost nonexistent. Disregarding the occasional sneering innuendo from the Sackville-Bagginses, most of Hobbiton seemed to assume that Sadoc and Bilbo’s separation had the peaceful, natural end that was so often seen among young relationships. Bilbo was to remain collected and cordial whenever he ran into Sadoc at the marketplace, where inquiries of Bilbo’s health and soft reminiscent thoughts were wrapped around jabs against his honor and character. Bilbo was to pick up his sense of self and move on. He was to keep a straight face when he saw Sadoc and his new ladylove together. He was not to flinch at every too-quick movement, hurry home wherever he went, nor notice the concealed anger of each person he met. He knew what was expected of him, but he just could not seem to manage, and so he finally came to the conclusion that Sadoc had broken something in him.

The revelation was startling to him, even if it did make sense. Bilbo knew that he was not fit for relationships (too _willful_ , a voice whispered, too _Took-ish_ , too… _Bilbo-ish_ ) but he had never disliked himself this much. He didn’t like it; he didn’t like feeling as if he was not enough and yet he just could not shake that feeling that he was a failure to everyone around him.

These words he whispered into his mother’s hands a few months after he had returned to Bag End. She was the only one who knew how deeply Sadoc had hurt Bilbo, and while she did feel pain for him, she could do nothing for him but assure him (unsuccessfully) over and over that this was not the case, that Bilbo was wanted, that he didn’t have to change, and that he was still himself. But as Belladonna grew sicker and sicker, she could only spare so much energy and Bilbo began to play off his darkening thoughts so she could focus on getting better. He learned to hide his pain from her, and then from any one that he came across. It was still there, but navigating around comments that would reveal how little he thought of himself became like second nature to Bilbo and he did so with ease. Despite this, Bilbo always knew that on days when his mind turned against itself with a particularly vicious twist, he had at least his mother to turn towards.

And then she died.

Belladonna Baggins drew her last breath early one December morning with her failing eyes cast upon her snow-covered garden. She was buried within the week and Bilbo could not tell you a thing about the weeks that followed beyond the yawning, empty sadness that took up residence in his stomach.

But early one crisp January morning, Bilbo awoke and decided that enough was enough. Whether or not he liked himself or if he felt up to it, he was the only Baggins left in Bag End and he would sooner give away all of the silver in his smial to Lobelia than let himself waste away in this place. And so with a resolute heart, he rolled out of bed to cook himself a proper first breakfast and then walked out his front door to finally answer some of the summons he received when his mother had first passed.

He would focus on being the respectable hobbit he was expected to be and try to ignore everything wrong about himself, because what else could he do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, confession time! I got ideas for Sadoc from an ex of my own and decided to go a bit different route than the typical abuse tropes I usually find in fandoms. There are a few reasons for this, one is that I wanted to found a deep-set and unique way for Bilbo's past to reflect on his future, which is much more realistic when I have something to base these off of. I also want to explore psychological abuse more than physical because while both are equally awful, I have found that psychological abuse is much more personal and requires a bit more background.
> 
> As for Hobbit courting, I imagined the process to be quite fluid and casual, but I think I will discuss that in more depth when it is contrasted a bit more sharply with dwarvish culture.
> 
> This being said, this fic will probably not be the fastest one and I apologize for that. But the next chapter will have a few (a lot) more dwarrows and a bit more plot. I hope you enjoyed this. Kudos and critique are both accepted with equal gusto!
> 
> EDIT: Whoo man kinda went to town on polishing this (fixing stylistic things, trying to smooth out and split up the paragraphs, the works). Let me know if you see something out of place!


	2. Push (but not in the labor sense)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guests (intruders), a meal (a bloody food fight), and the (unwelcome) proposition for an (ill-advised) adventure. Bilbo couldn't ask for more.
> 
> Additionally, if you find reading about anxiety attacks to be triggering in any way, please be safe and read with caution.
> 
> EDIT: Updated this chapter! As always, let me know if you see something amiss!

Nine years after Belladonna’s death found Bilbo dealing with the most incorrigible wizard (if not being) East of Valinor. Here he was enjoying a perfect mid-morning smoke when this meddling _wizard_ of all things dropped unannounced into his garden riddling away about ‘good days’ and _adventures_ of all things. Bilbo was feeling so flustered after being trounced in the slight word-battle, so he had invited Gandalf to tea later on to just make him leave. But after the wizard had buggered off in whatever which way he came from, Bilbo found himself fidgeting. 

He had invited someone that he did not know tea. He hadn't done that for what seemed like an age and if a wizard did not find his company enjoyable and took this as a personal slight— well, there were dreadful stories of them turning people that they did not like into toys and such. Bilbo forced the wave of nervousness down, but knowing that he couldn't stave it off completely, decided that he would prepare what he could.

Bilbo bustled back into his kitchen to get started on his tea preparations. At first all he made was a batch of sweetened lavender scones. But upon eyeing the cooling tray, he wondered if the wizard would like something a bit heartier. Maybe something with some of the dried fruit he had stored up…

The afternoon continued on like this, with Bilbo falling into the calming rhythm of cooking batch after batch of sweets, but always second-guessing himself until he finally had quite the impressive spread for a guest who didn't even show up for tea in the end.

‘Oh well,’ Bilbo thought to himself, ‘It’s not like I was at my most welcoming this morning. I wouldn't have shown up either in his place.’ Bilbo stood from where he was waiting for Gandalf near the door and started storing the uneaten pastries, ignoring whatever twinges of loneliness nagged at him.

A few scant hours later when twelve dwarves tumbled through his doorway, his oh! so impressive spread for tea didn't even last the first hour.

The first dwarf— Daling? Or was that his brother?— gave Bilbo such a fright, that all he could manage at the gruff greeting was the faint “B-Bilbo Baggins, at yours,” never mind a question as to ‘what in the name of all that is green is your business here?’ However, Bilbo’s protests died in his throat when the dwarf stood up straight and it became apparent that he was _so much bigger_ than Bilbo originally thought. His only thought when he was brushed aside in favor for food was ‘I hope the food that’s out is good enough, I’d hate for him to be angry…’ 

When the next knock came, he could almost feel the accusation in the dwarf’s “That’ll be the door.” Not wanting to come off as a bad host, Bilbo scurried to the door only to find yet another dwarf who immediately latched onto the first. Upon eavesdropping, Bilbo found that these two were brothers who, if he guessed correctly, had not seen each other for quite some time. This was good, the two would most likely distract each other and leave Bilbo alone, or at least from the fact that he was not very good at this… this ‘interacting with visitors’ thing.

Then came Fili and Kili, both with enough abrupt charisma to have Bilbo stumble over his own feet. 

And then Bombur, Bofur, Bifur, Óin, Glóin, Ori, Nori, and Dori tumbled into his smial (because of course he couldn't just have four uninvited guests) with Gandalf ambling in behind them, seeming to delight in the chaos he was causing.

They were all so large and loud that Bilbo just froze while they scraped mud on his mother’s glory box, scratched his floors with – _were those axes?!_ – whatever they were carrying, somehow found his pantry and— and— and—

In the resulting clamor, any word that Bilbo uttered was swept away. So Bilbo remained unseen and unheard, or at least unnoticed while these dwarves suddenly decided to make a right feast out of whatever he had on hand.

Then on top of the chaos that ensued came the jabs against his hospitality and _attitude_ , (and this from the strangers in his house, a very Baggins part of him raged). The singing and flinging of his mother’s crockery was the last straw and Bilbo found his chest tightening up in a way that it had not in years. He couldn't breathe, he couldn’t function here, he couldn't— he couldn't—

He had to get out. Now.

Unhearing of the protests of the twelve Eru-blasted dwarves and Wizard in his dining room, Bilbo stumbled out of his front door and to the bench that sat overlooking Bag Shot Row. There he sat, taking as deep of breaths as he could with his forehead pressed to his kneecaps and the world was lost on him.

After his breathing had regained some normality, his surroundings came back to him slowly. The dirt below Bilbo’s toes and the press of his curls and the fabric of his pants against his forehead was the first thing he registered. Next, Bilbo opened his eyes to see a pair of well-worn boots in front of him. Then came a voice deep enough to rattle his bones saying, “...you’re in the Shire, outside of what I’m assuming is your house. It is roughly nine o’clock in the evening. Your name is probably Bilbo Boggins and you’re in the Shire, outside of what I’m assuming is your house. It is-”

“Baggins,” Bilbo gasped out, “My name is Bilbo _Baggins._ And yes, that is my smial.”

The voice’s owner snorted and deadpanned, “At least our burglar remembers that.”

As strange as that statement was, Bilbo found himself chuckling and was about to respond when Gandalf’s voice called for the both of them to come inside. Bilbo stalled a few minutes while the stranger went inside without a word before he stretched and followed yet another stranger into his own smial. 

In the dim light of his entryway, Bilbo could make out the details of the stranger. He was a dwarf and a stately one if his clothing was anything to go by. Long, dark hair framed his strong features and eyes that were a bright enough blue to look out of place next to his dark garb. He stood a good head over Bilbo and was broad in a way that almost made Bilbo’s breath catch. Thorin Oakenshield, he was named, and when his gaze slid over to Bilbo, the hobbit was almost immediately leveled with a stare that made him want to shuffle in place like a guilty fauntling.

“So this is the hobbit,” Thorin finally said. A snort of dismissal was followed by an offhanded, “In this light, he looks more like a grocer.” 

Disbelief and shame came over Bilbo and it was all he could do to remain polite when he was asked what kind of _weapon_ he preferred of all things. With his heart in his throat, Bilbo followed the two taller men into his dining room to face the dwarves that had forced him into a panic only a few dozen minutes ago.

It did not escape his attention that the rowdiness that had put him off before had now faded into restrained excitement. Thorin was undoubtedly their leader; he certainly spoke with the confidence and passion of one.

And so the night passed in a blur of dwarven song and story. The yarn they spun for him was fascinating and despite the fact that their quest seemed like a madman’s errand, he couldn't deny that their words made longing for the world outside of the Shire tug at his heart (a feeling he had almost forgotten). Judging by path that the dwarves seemed intent on taking, they would pass through the Misty Mountains, Mirkwood, and they would even come fairly close to Rivendell! Wouldn’t it be grand to wade out into the world and see what it would hold for someone of his standing? No small part of him was just itching to go and see and wonder at everything that he could…

But in reality, Bilbo metaphorically dug his heels into the dirt. There must always be a Baggins in Bag End, he insisted, and Bilbo was respectable enough to uphold that creed. The contract he was handed only confirmed his thoughts that this would not be a journey he could make while still maintaining his reputation with its talk of treasure and glory and _funerals_.

Privately though, Bilbo’s thoughts strayed down darker paths. Him? On a Quest? He had nearly panicked earlier this morning at the idea of one invited guest! And on top of that, Bilbo found this Thorin figure a bit too similar to someone he would rather not think of. 

‘Really,’ Bilbo thought, ‘if I can barely handle thirteen unexpected dwarves and one that reminds me of… of Sadoc in a way, how could I handle an adventure of all things? The road is no place for me.’

And then one of the dwarves (Bofur, if memory served him well), decided that he needed a graphic description of the dragon that he would **not** be having anything to do with could do to him, and he was on the floor in a dead faint.

He was never going to live that down.

Later found Bilbo sitting in one of his own chairs, clutching a mug of tea as if it were a lifeline. He knew that he was not going on this adventure, but ever since he had come to, all of the dwarves seemed to treat him with a distant courtesy that screamed disappointment to Bilbo. On seeing the tattered edges of gray robes enter his vision, Bilbo looked up from where he had been studying the twist of lemon floating in his cup into the creases and bushy eyebrows that Gandalf was known for.

After a pregnant silence filled with unreadable gazes and subtle flicks of the eyes and other such things that these tense silences were known for, Bilbo took a breath and sighed, “Yes?”

“What are you afraid of?”

“I think the dragon is a good place to start.”

The wrinkles in Gandalf’s face deepened and Bilbo got the feeling that he had said something wrong. “I mean, why do you not wish to go?”

Bilbo felt the response fall limply from his lips, rather than heard it. “I am a Baggins of Bag End.”

“Bilbo, I asked you why you do not wish to go. Not why you won’t.”

Another silence. “What is stopping you?” Gandalf murmured.

“Please…”

“This is everything you wanted to do when you were younger.”

“I was fine with myself when I was younger; I was more… more.” The thought bypassed Bilbo’s judgment on its way out of his brain.

“Aaaah…”

“…I’m going to bed now,” Bilbo murmured, “All of the extra linen is kept in the closet off of the living room. Please let everyone know to make themselves comfortable.”

On his way to the kitchen, Bilbo passed Thorin and Balin conversing in the hall. While he could not make out their entire conversation, the snippets he did hear (“…for the best… odds were always….” “…no more than… not for me.”) were enough to tell him what they thought on the matter. Not for the first time, Bilbo cursed sensitive Hobbit hearing for giving him things he could go without.

Curling up underneath the quilt on his bed, Bilbo felt the events of the night well up and wrap around his chest tighter and tighter. These strangers were able to see what he had hidden from his friends and neighbors for years and—

Singing. There was singing in his smial and judging by the timbre of the voices, it was the dwarves. Bilbo found it easy to ignore his rising anxiety in favor of focusing on the rising and falling of the notes that drifted from his living room. Wrapped up in words of fire and fury, Bilbo found some sense of peace and felt the world fade from him for the second this time this evening, this time without a fight.

Little did Bilbo know that after he had drifted off to sleep and all the dwarves had found a place to rest for the evening, Gandalf had continued puffing away at his pipe for some time in Bilbo’s living room, an eye on Belladonna’s portrait and a thought cast to just what had her son come to.  
\----  
In the morning, Bilbo found the silence in his smial unsettling in a way that it never was for him before. After the night of rambunctious houseguests, it was strange not to go about brewing his morning cup of tea while stepping casually over twelve bulky, snoring bodies. Dressed in naught but his bed clothes, Bilbo took a moment to appreciate warm porcelain under his fingers, thinking that these small things that he enjoyed were not things that he would find on an adventure. And really, that Thorin figure was so like Sadoc that Bilbo knew, just _knew,_ that he would be attracted to the dwarf. With his confounded voice atop of his intensity and his blasted looks paired with that larger-than-life charisma, Bilbo knew that it wouldn't be more than a week and he would be pining after him like a tween with a crush.

He was recreating himself in the wake of Sadoc, he didn’t need another reiteration of that sad story. He didn't want to go back to that place, to feel more emotion for someone than they did for him. He didn't want to feel like he did with Sadoc again; the thought terrified him more than the idea that he might disappoint this group of strangers. That was the answer he should have given Gandalf last night. No, Bilbo was better off here among his cups and slightly-blunted knives. He was simply not cut out for an adventure, regardless of how much a mad-hatter Took-ish part of him wanted to.

Upon the thought, a memory came unbidden to Bilbo.

_“You’re just not cut out for this, Bilbo.” Sadoc grumbled while Bilbo bustled around the kitchen, putting the final details on his and Sadoc’s elevensies. “Your father probably never taught you how to be a good partner. Goodness knows that a Took like your mother could not be able to teach you.”_

_Bilbo sighed, having already heard this line of thought, but the noise escaped him a bit too loudly. “Excuse me, Bilbo, do you have something to say?” Bilbo turned to face Sadoc, wiping his hands on a towel. “Sadoc, I’m doing the best that I can. And are you not the one who at first said that you were willing to be patient with me?”_

_“I have been patient, love, I have been patient for months and you still cannot clean, you cannot cook proper, hobbit meals, you have no real job outside of writing your silly books and you have refused to marry me for just as long. Why should I be patient for a partner that clearly has better things to do than act in my best interests?”_

_Bilbo knew that it would be best to just stare at the ground, hum in agreement and turn back to his meal, but something would not allow that this time. “I maintain this smial while you are working just fine and many others have found my cooking more than satisfactory. What do you find wrong with it? And you know that my mother wishes for at least five years of courtship from us before marriage.”_

_“If you truly wished to be with me, you would have forsaken her wishes long ago.” Bilbo stilled at the statement but Sadoc continued on, unhindered, “And you are too focused in on your fantasies to concentrate on anything else. Your skills, your looks, all wasted on those books. It’s no wonder that no one was courting you when I met you…”_

Despite Bilbo not finding it in him to directly oppose Sadoc this time, that night he gained an impressive set of bruises across his left arm and back. Bilbo sat up straighter in his seat from the memory and then from an indignant anger that he had not felt for a very long time.

Since when had he let others define him so completely? This was ridiculous; here he was a fully-grown gentlehobbit and he would let the presence of a dwarf that reminded him faintly of a past lover dictate his actions. 

Bilbo stood up fast enough to nearly spill his tea. He was going on this adventure, potential feelings towards Thorin be damned. He wanted to see the mountains, Rivendell, the woods, everything. Perhaps if he couldn't be a good partner, he could be a good adventurer. If he really was trying to recreate himself, was there better place to do it than on a Quest?

With that, Bilbo threw everything that he thought that he could possibly need into his mother’s old pack, hastily scrawled his name across the bottom of the contract along with a quick note explaining his situation to Hamfast, and took off sprinting towards the East Road he knew the dwarves would take out of Hobbiton.

His arrival was met with varied levels of surprise, but he was nevertheless given a spot in their procession. Bilbo’s bravado faded slightly upon learning that he would have to ride a pony, forgetting his blasted hankerchief, and that there were dwarves betting against him coming at all, but Bilbo kept his spirits high.

After all, Gandalf had some faith in him, and if Thorin looked a tad less scornful than when he had first met the Hobbit, no one said a thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed chapter two! I will be on vacation until early July so Chapter 3 will take a bit longer to figure out than this one did. Thank you all for being patient and I hope that this chapter is enough to tide people over for that amount of time.
> 
> In other news, I ended up scrutinizing this chapter less than I normally do and tried a experimenting a bit with my style a bit. This being said, feedback is much appreciated and if there are any mistakes, I would love to hear of them. Also, I hope people appreciated the 'Roverandom' and 'Hannibal' plugs I put in there, but these are mostly jokes with myself, so no pressure.
> 
> As always, kudos, criticism, and especially questions are accepted with enthusiasm. Next chapter, I'm going to aim for more interaction between characters and other such important plot-y things, so wish me luck!


	3. Twist (no shouting)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo starts to figure out how to deal with his traveling companions, which sounds much less frustrating than it actually is.
> 
> Also there are a few screams in the nights. And a few trolls.
> 
> EDIT: Now edited!

For the first leg of the Quest, Bilbo was content to quietly hover around the edges of the Company. As a group, the dwarves were not unkind per se, but simply distant. Bilbo guessed that most of them were more concerned with their own affairs than those of a stranger’s. He honestly didn’t mind; he knew he wasn’t too interesting to talk to. So most days the hobbit drifted from listening to one conversation to the next without saying much and he was fine with that.

Surprisingly enough, it was Bofur who Bilbo spent the most time with. Despite their rough start, Bofur’s good humor was enjoyable to be around and the dwarf was content to fill whatever silences there were between them with his cheery stream of consciousness. Almost by extension, Bilbo also found Bombur striking up conversations with him. Bombur seemed to be friendly enough and he was happy to talk about his family and trade recipes with the hobbit, so Bilbo would seek out the company of the large dwarf almost as often as he sought out Bofur. The brothers were also attentive when Bilbo had anything to say (to Bilbo's relief), so between the three of them the long days on horseback were filled with comfortable chatter.

Three weeks after they left Hobbiton, the Company was camped on a cliff overlooking a valley. This day had been one of the more miserable days, with the heat and the humidity making a majority of the Company snappish with each other. This left Bilbo sinking into himself early in the morning, his already sparse comments becoming fewer and further in between.

Given how on-edge Bilbo was, sneaking away to spend time with a creature that wouldn’t speak to him peevishly after the Company had set up camp for the night was almost common sense. Despite his initial trepidation towards the ponies, he found the silent company of Myrtle soothing and would often go to her with what snacks he could spare out of his pack or that he picked up along the trail.

As he had before, the hobbit stole up next to her and after giving her an apple and ran his fingers through her mane absent-mindedly. A momentary feeling of peace came over the two of them despite the anxiety and sores of the day. Bilbo took a deep breath that he felt he hadn’t been able to squeeze in all day long.

However, this was interrupted by an ungodly screech that came echoing down the valley and into his very bones. After startling and letting out a yelp of his own, Bilbo reluctantly rushed back to camp as quietly as he could. While he did know that it was Not Smart to stay out alone with that sort of noise floating on the wind, in some ways he dreaded the ire of his companions more than whatever had been the origin of that noise.

He had managed to take a seat on his bedroll near the fire at the center of camp when a second screech sounded.

Then a hand clapped down on his shoulder and nearly made his heart leap out of his chest.

Bilbo instantly ducked, whirled around, and brought his forearms to cover his face. Through his arms, Bilbo saw Kili looking at him, looking almost as startled as he probably did. Quickly, Kili schooled himself into his characteristic grin/smirk mishmash and drawled, “The orcs have you startled then, Master Boggins?”

“That’s Baggins. And orcs?” Bilbo said, quickly running his fingers through his own hair in a halfhearted attempt to play off what just happened.

“Bloody throat-cutters they are.” Fili came out of _nowhere_ and draped himself over his brother with a serious look. “Always quiet and deadly. They only attack in the wee hours.”

Kili added, “There should be dozens of them in the lowlands. Orcs are wont to travel in packs.”

“You think that’s funny? You think a night raid by orcs is a joke?” The frosty interruption made Bilbo sink down where he sat.

“No,” he whispered, but Thorin either ignored him or didn't hear him and continued, “You know nothing of the world.” His reprimand dealt, Thorin swept off to the edge of camp to most likely brood and stare threateningly at anything that moved

Grandfatherly to a fault, Balin stepped in to sooth tempers. “Don’t mind him, laddie. Thorin has more cause than most to hate orcs.” Balin launched into the tale of the battle for Khazad-dûm, and Bilbo was reminded that Thorin was a king with bigger and better things to do than to make time for a silly hobbit wrapped up in his own world. And if that was the case, then Bilbo’s attentions were better placed elsewhere.

Despite this rationalization and any that he could offer himself afterwards, Bilbo felt Thorin’s scorn weigh heavily on his chest and he spent the rest of the night trying to get out from under the weight of the disappointment he had with himself. The hobbit eventually fell asleep with what he knew was unnecessary guilt resting against his mind not unlike the rocks under his bedroll that dug into his back.  
\-----  
Thorin and Gandalf were snipping at each other. Granted, there was nothing new about that, but it was starting to get a bit more pointed and vicious than normal. For Bilbo (and to a lesser extent, the Company), the past few days had been an overall storm of silent terseness punctuated by occasional conversations or (in Fili and Kili’s case) teasing.

Bilbo wasn’t sure what to think about the two youngsters. Ever since the incident at the cliff, they had taken to falling in step beside Bilbo from time to time and refusing to leave him until they got an answer to whatever question or comment they made towards their "burglar." Recently they had become acutely interested in Hobbit culture and seemed to have no filter when it came to their inquiries. They were certainly friendly enough and funny to boot, but they obviously took quite some pleasure in the particular shade of red that Bilbo felt like he radiated whenever his “proper hobbit sensibilities” came into question.

He knew that they meant no harm, but he really would appreciate it if they felt like they could converse with him without defaulting to “So what would a hobbit such as you think of…?” as a conversation starter. It was honestly starting to grow more irritating than charming, though Bilbo never said it out loud.

Needless to say, Bilbo was a bit on edge by the time they had set up camp that evening. On top of that, Thorin’s stubborn refusal to even consider getting help from any Elf and Gandalf’s sudden exit and sharp rebuke to any question of where he was going unsettled the hobbit even more.

After night fell, Bofur asked Bilbo to take some dinner to the Fili and Kili and Bilbo practically leapt at the chance of getting away from the stifling air surrounding the camp. This of course lead to Bilbo stumbling his way over roots and brush while trying to not spill stew everywhere and find just where on Eru’s green earth Fili and Kili had gone.

When Bilbo finally did find the two, they were staring out across onto the clearing where they had left the ponies, both completely still. Making a little more noise as he came closer to let them know he was there, Bilbo stepped in between the two and held the bowls for them to take. When they seemingly ignored the hobbit,, Bilbo noted the very particular expressions on their faces and he ventured a quiet, “What’s the matter?”

“We’re supposed to be looking out for the ponies,” Kili started.

“But we’ve encountered a slight problem, because you see” Fili continued distractedly, “we had sixteen.”

“And now there’s fourteen.” In the following pause, Bilbo found himself hysterically thinking, ‘These are the people that they teach us about in maths class.’

“Minty and Bungo are missing.” Kili said at length, “We think it might have something to do with that,” Kili pointed off to the side, where it looked like several trees had been uprooted and vegetation trampled.

“Th-that’s not good at all.” Bilbo mumbled, “Perhaps they wandered off? We should tell Thorin.”

“Uh, no. Let’s not worry him. As our official burglar, we thought you might like to look into it.” The curse that came to mind at that was not proper at all, but said burglar allowed the brothers to drag him off for no reason other than to not give them a reason to give him grief later.

Less than a few hundred yards away from their own camp, they found a troll camp with three of the hulking beasts sitting around the bonfire that served as their campfire. Each of them were just as huge as their wake suggested but twice as vulgar and gross as any of the stories that Bilbo had heard ever told of.

Luckily, Fili and Kili were able to keep relatively quiet as they took to hiding behind an overturned log near the outskirts of the campsite. “They’ve got Minty and Bungo!” Fili whispered unnecessarily and Bilbo barely refrained from rolling his eyes.

“We have to do something,” Bilbo mused.

“Yes, you should.” Kili replied, “Mountain trolls are slow and stupid, and you’re so small. They’ll never see you!”  
Bilbo’s stuttered “N-no. No no no. Absolutely not!” was drowned out by the brothers’ rushed assurances. And with that he was bustled forwards until he was right outside the circle of trolls.

Needless to say, Bilbo did not want to be here. Every sensible fiber in his being was screaming at him to be anywhere but here, but something very Took-ish reared its head with the sole intent of making one certain hobbit miserable. ‘This could be the thing,’ it reasoned, ‘to prove yourself a reliable burglar.’ The idea was tempting, and plus if he turned back now the group would be short two ponies, scorn would fall upon him for not doing something… And as the final nail in the coffin, Bilbo could just see Fili and Kili latching onto this new thing to tease over.

With his mind made up, Bilbo circled the site, first trying and failing to untie the ropes on the makeshift pen where the ponies were being held, moving to circle the trolls, patiently looking for anything that might be of use to him.

“Me guts are grumbling, I’ve got to snaffle something. Flesh I need, flesh!”

The movement of one of the trolls pulling a handkerchief out of his back pocket caught Bilbo’s eye. Not only was there a knife in that same troll’s pocket (William if he heard correctly. He never knew that trolls had names…), after he put his handkerchief back there was a good chance that he wouldn’t have to revisit that pocket for awhile.

After what seemed like an age at least, William stuffed the grungy excuse for a handkerchief back into his pocket. Ever so slowly, Bilbo crept up behind William until he was within arm’s reach of the foul creature. He silently grasped the worn, greasy handle and began pulling the knife out of its case and William’s pocket. The blade slid out surprisingly smoothly until Bilbo caught the end by the flat of the blade and scurried back to the edges of the camp as fast as he could.

As to not stop and process what he had just done, Bilbo immediately hefted the blade and stole off to the pen where the ponies were being held. There he began sawing away at the knots in the ropes as quietly as he could and the ropes unraveled quickly under his fingers.

But as the last rope fell apart, Kili, bless the little idiot, said only a touch too loudly, “Good job Bilbo!”

This of course alerted the trolls that there was _something_ on the outskirts of their camp and as they began looking around frantically. Panic began wrap around Bilbo’s chest and thoughts of ‘What if they find Fili and Kili? They would certainly be eaten!’ rushed through his head.

Without thinking, Bilbo shouted the first thing that came to mind. “Oi! What’re you _doing_ to that stew?”

The trolls zeroed in on him with an uncanny accuracy and Tom snatched him up like he was about to disappear. As Bilbo was lifted into the air and shaken about by a frankly disgusting hand he cursed himself for not thinking this through all the way.

“What is it?”

“Whatd’ya mean ‘doing to that stew’?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t like the way it wriggles around!”

“What are you then? An oversized squirrel?”

Slightly dazed by all of the shouting directed at him, Bilbo’s words tumbled out a bit quickly and sounded something like, “I’m a burgl-- uhh, Hobbit.”

“A Burgla-Hobbit?”

“Can we cook `im?

“We can try!”

“He wouldn’t make more than mouthful. Say, are there any more of you little Burgla-Hobbits about?”

“N-no, not in these parts,” Bilbo said, right as the Company decided that it would be a good time to burst screaming through the underbrush and start hacking away at the legs of the trolls. Somewhere in the fray of thirteen dwarves attacking their camp, the troll that was holding Bilbo dropped him and he hit the ground with a bone-rattling thud. Trying to shake off the shock, the hobbit tried to scamper out of the way and let the dwarves do the fighting that he couldn’t.

This idea was thwarted when he was picked up _again_ and threats of dismemberment were thrown around.

“Lay down yer weapons or we rip his limbs off!” one of the trolls roared and Bilbo tried to catch the eye of Thorin, trying to figure out just what he would do. With nothing more than a glare, Thorin sunk his blade into the ground and Bilbo hung his head. Among the sound of weapons being cast down, Bilbo could feel the frustrated glares from the Company that were directed at him without looking for them along with Thorin’s blatant scorn. And if panic wasn’t enough to ruin his spirits, a deep pit of shame opened up in his stomach and threatened to swallow him whole.

The burlap they tied the Company up in was rough and scratched at Bilbo’s neck when he looked about frantically for anything that he could do to get them out of this mess. Finally, as a good portion of the Company was lashed to a spit, Bilbo saw that all he had left to work with was what he had on hand… And given that his hands were currently incapacitated, his words would have to do.

“Oi!” Bilbo started, “ _Oi!_ You’re doing it wrong!”

Almost instantly, the trolls turned back towards him. “Whaddya mean wrong?” Bert growled at him.

“Th-the dwarves! You’re cooking them wrong!” Contradiction, Bilbo knew, was the easiest way to get ill-tempered hobbits riled up and distracted. For the first and last time, Bilbo desperately hoped that trolls and hobbits had at least that in common.

“’ow would you know a thing ‘bout cooking dwarves?”

“B-Burgla-Hobbits often eat them. Dwarves. We’ve… got a secret to it!”

“Well, tell us! We don’t have all night!” The hobbit silently screeched at himself for not thinking of this earlier.

“The, uh, secret is…”

‘Oh Bilbo,’ he thought to himself as the trolls hurried him along, ‘you’ve spent enough time in the kitchen to know this! What’s the most time-consuming thing you can do?!’

“You skin them!” he finally blurted, and immediately regretted it when the trolls went to pick up Bombur.

“What rubbish!” Tom sneered, “I’ve eaten plenty with their skins on!”

The one that was holding Bombur nodded, “Nothin’ wrong with eating them raw. Nice and crunchy!”

“Not that one!” Bilbo yelped around the knot of panic in his throat, “He- He’s not good! He’s… infected!” That got the trolls to pause and almost hysterically, Bilbo continued, “He’s got worms! Worms in his… tubes, oh, it’s awful business! You couldn’t eat a single one of them without catching them!”

Distantly, Bilbo heard the dwarves behind him and on the spit start to shout around him, but he was simply too nervous to pay attention to whatever they were saying opting instead to babble on about parasites.

Finally, Tom broke the cacophony of noises by finally shouting, “This little ferret is taking us for fools! We should ‘ave eaten him when we had the chance!”

Before anything else could progress, “Dawn take you all!” sounded around the clearing they were gathered in, startling a cry out of Bilbo. Out of seemingly nowhere, Gandalf appeared suddenly (which he seemed to have a fondness for) and shed the morning light on the trolls by splitting the rock he stood upon with a theatrical flourish of his staff.

Bilbo felt the tension in his chest release at being out of immediate danger, but the moment that he was free on the burlap he was tied into, he fled to the tree line and used every ounce of stealth he had to disappear among the trunks, shaking in shame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *lies down on the ground* I have no excuse for getting this out so late other than this weird cocktail of laziness, stuff to do, and frustration intense enough for me to rewrite this chapter quite a few times. I am hoping for the next update I can move on at least a little bit to developing Thorin's character, but the best-laid plans always go awry. (I've come to realize that my writing is chock-full of my odd sense of humor, but I hope some of you out there enjoy it.)
> 
> I feel as if this chapter was choppy at the best, so if you have any critique or suggestions I would love to hear them. Hell, even if I loved the stuffing out of this chapter I would adore critique or suggestions.


	4. Stretch (but not reaching)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our esteemed burglar discovers high velocities and how much he hates confrontations (again).
> 
> In other news, Fili and Kili are somewhat aware of their own actions.
> 
> EDIT: Two chapters edited in a night! I'm on a roll! Whoo! (ngl ever since I wrote this I can't help but think of Yakety Sax during the chase scene. OTL I'm so lame guys.)

‘How could you have done that you silly hobbit!’ Bilbo berated himself silently. It had been almost an hour since he had gotten loose from the burlap that the trolls had used to capture them. Since he had gotten away, he had been curled up hidden at the base of a tree maybe twenty feet from the troll hoard and the squabbling dwarves waiting, _just waiting_ , for someone in the Company to fetch him. He knew not to go far from the Company as it would be unwise and only earn him more ire. Not only did he not have any skills to protect himself, the dwarves would most definitely want to punish him for getting caught and putting them in this situation in the first place, and having to scour the woods for their burglar would only make them angrier, so it was safer to stay within a reasonable distance.

‘Oh Eru be merciful,’ Bilbo thought, ‘Thorin was bound to be furious with him when they would next meet.’

“Skin them?” he mumbled to himself, “Urg, how could I say that? Of all of the-” Bilbo’s stomach felt like it was trying to eat itself inside out just to get away from the heavy lump of shame that had settled there. He was tired, his head hurt, his neck burned where it had chafed from the burlap he was wrapped in, and the crippling litany of insecurity he had going for him didn’t exactly help. As much as he had tried to stop it, his brain felt the need to replay the entire incident incessantly, break it down, and highlight every single instance where he could have done something differently.

Like not being pressured into approaching the trolls in the first place.

Or not getting caught the first time.

Or not getting caught the second time.

Of not telling the trolls that _skinning of all things-_ The list goes on.

 _And it wouldn’t stop._ He knew that stalling at the time was important and that it all turned out just fine and that worrying about this wouldn’t do a single thing but he just couldn’t-

The crunching of twigs and shouts of his name pulled Bilbo out of his spiraling thoughts. He had to- had to— to make himself presentable. If he was going to be reamed for his foolishness, he would do so with some sense of dignity, Eru so help him. The familiar urge was comforting, and it was enough for him to uncurl himself and stand, shaking off the muss on his coat as well as he could.

Schooling his face into a blank look, Bilbo stepped out from behind the tree he was curled up behind despite the rolling in his stomach. Fili and Kili caught sight of Bilbo instantly and half-jogged towards the hobbit. They came to a stop in front of him, and all three were silent with Bilbo taking a sudden interest (and envy) in the way his toes could bury themselves in the dirt.

“Uncle was quite furious, you really should have seen it,” Kili started. Bilbo’s shoulders felt like they were creeping their way up to the tips of his ears. A solid thunk of a boot meeting a shin and a grunt of pain made him look up at the brothers and he wondered just what they were trying to get at.

Fili stepped forwards and began to talk in earnest, “Master Boggins, we apologize for pushing you into unnecessary danger when we were the ones who were irresponsible in the first place. We shouldn’t have pressured you into that.”

Kili shuffled forwards at that to add, “I apologize for giving you away. You shouldn’t have had to take the fall for us and-”

“Stop.”

The brothers shot Bilbo a quizzical look and Fili whispered, “What?” while Kili just blurted out, “But we owe you!”

Bilbo let out a sigh and dragged his hands over his face. He didn’t want this; he knew he was at least partially at fault here. After letting them fall limply to his sides, he slowly said, “Master Fili, Master Kili, I- I made the decision to approach those trolls, I was the one trying to clean up the mess I made when- when I was caught, and I’d prefer to keep it that way.”

“Master Boggins…”

“I appreciate your apology! I truly do! But, please… just don’t.” An uncomfortable silence followed until Bilbo finally said, “And it’s _Baggins._ But calling me Bilbo would be better.” Twin grins slowly began to spread on the brothers’ faces and Bilbo, in a small burst of humor, snarked, “You also need to tell your Uncle to coach you with better apologies.”

This seemed to startle some laughter out of the brothers and cast out the awkward air that had come over the trio like shaking dust from a rug. Kili slapped Fili on the back and gleefully snickered, “I think our burglar is fierce enough for one of his size!”

Before Bilbo could disagree, Fili stood up a bit straighter and gestured forwards with an odd case that Bilbo had not noticed before. “I almost forgot Ma— Bilbo, Óin tripped over this in the cave! Gandalf thought that you should have it.”

Bilbo took hold of the object, curious as to what Gandalf thought would be of use to him, and absently brushed the spider webs off of its container. “Óin tripped over it in the hoard.” Bilbo looked up at Kili’s explanation, “It’s an elvish letter opener, but it’s the perfect size for you!”

Bilbo almost dropped package in surprise, “S-surely someone else can take it!”

“Come, Bilbo! It already took half an age to get Uncle to accept his blade.”Kili’s voice was drifting close to a whine, “And we already know about your weird fascination with Elves.”

“You also don’t have a weapon,” Fili reasoned, “And it’s just your size.”

Bilbo looked down as his hands, Fili did have a point. Finally, he nodded and mumbled, “If that’s the case, thank you.”

The hobbit didn’t have to look up to see that the twin grins on Kili and Fili’s faces widened to almost stretch ear-to-ear, but he did anyway. It felt nice to think that he put those smiles there, as melodramatic as that sounded.

Kili stepped forwards, jovially saying, “We knew you’d see reason!” and went to clap Bilbo on the shoulder. He seemed to think twice about it though and ended up fumbling in between the two.

Bilbo just blinked, a bit taken aback by the sudden hesitance, and finally said, “Just give me some warning.”

The brothers nodded, and the hand that soon rested on Bilbo’s shoulder was more grounding to the hobbit than he thought it would be. Fili finally broke the moment by tugging on Kili’s coat and saying, “Let’s head back towards the others. Tomorrow we can teach our burglar how to handle that letter opener.”

Bilbo took a deep breath, steadying himself to face the dwarves who would probably be less forgiving than these two, and stiffly nodded before trotting after the brothers.

(In retrospect, it was after this that the casual touches that flowed easily between the dwarves also came to include him, but a tad more deliberate and obvious than with their own kind. Bilbo couldn’t tell if this was a courtesy or a patronization.)

They arrived back at the troll hoard just in time to grab their packs before Gandalf’s call to run away from _something_ coming through the underbrush. Bilbo had to admit that he was a little more than a bit relieved that any reprimands for the Troll Incident were held off for a time when they were not running for their lives. They could not have been more than a two minute’s run away from the hoard when the oddest person Bilbo had ever laid eyes on crashed through the lines of dwarves he was near the end of, giving Bilbo the umpteenth heart attack of the past few hours.

This person, Radagast, was a wizard. As rude as it probably was, after Gandalf pulled the newcomer off to the side, Bilbo whispered to himself, “Another wizard? _Really?_ ” A quiet snort from either side of him reminded him that the brothers probably heard him. The Company sat in tense silence, guessing at just what Radagast and Gandalf could be talking about that was serious enough to turn the air about them a few shades darker and the leaves around them to bend a little more towards the ground.

Whatever patience that the Company had for the talk of wizards was cut off by the howl of what was apparently a _warg_. Bilbo had never seen one before, but it was hard to mistake the beasts for anything else when the huge, hulking dogs crashed into their small group and the bellows of “Warg scouts!” drowned out whatever hope of quiet travels Bilbo had for the day.

The skirmish that ensued was blessedly short and came out to the Company standing over the bodies of the two wargs, all muttering among themselves. Bilbo just stared straight across the two carcasses with a morbid fascination, only to start and look away when he realized that he was aimlessly staring. Bilbo came back to reality a scant hair before Gandalf began laying his plan to make sure that at least a majority of the dwarves got across the plain that separated this part of the forest to the ford that should lead them to relative safety.

Amid the talk of battle and flight, Bilbo realized he couldn’t feel his knees. He could feel the foliage under the skin of his knees and how they held up the rest of his body, but whatever feeling he actually had in his joints had been thrown to the wind. Strangely enough, he was not caught up with spiraling thoughts of how there was no way that he could make a break for the other side of this field, but rather was just eager to get this over with.

After the brown blur that was Radagast burst out of the forest and over a nearby hill, Gandalf’s booming, “Come on! Stay together!” along with Thorin’s “Move!” was enough to spur Bilbo into the fastest sprint he had ever broken into and narrowed his thoughts down to the single line of ‘get to the outcrop get to the outcrop gettotheoutcrop _gettotheoutcropwhyisn’titgettingcloserfaster?!_ ’ The game of cat and mouse (and rabbit-driven decoy mouse) that then ensued was enough for Bilbo to wish that he was still trying to outsmart trolls.

When he finally did slam into the side of the outcrop, the momentary relief was almost instantly squashed by a warg and orc scout not ten feet over them, only to be both shot down and killed. Bilbo found his throat tightening when he realized that the sounds made by the beast and its rider were not unheard, and this mad dash had ended with them being surrounded. Seeing it was the only thing he could do, Bilbo drew his new blade clumsily out of its sheath. This was moving fast, so fast, too fast, and Bilbo found that the shouting of the dwarves around him began to fade out completely as he started slipping into staring down the nearest warg and rider.

However, out of the corner of his eye Bilbo saw Glóin begin to fall back. Looking around, Bilbo saw that the rest of the Company was headed for the crack between the two enormous boulders that made up the outcrop. Bilbo turned to do the same, his limbs suddenly feeling heavy with panic, but managed to slide home among the rest of the dwarves with only Kili and Thorin behind him.

Bilbo’s second moment of relief was squashed when one of the orcs _came into the crack behind them_ -

Only to be shot through the back by an arrow that was not launched from the single bow that the Company carried. Thorin pulled the arrow from the fallen orc and spat, “Elves,” which explained the lack of any further orcs coming from the field outside.

Bilbo vacantly stared the fallen orc with the sort of detached interest as he had with the wargs in the forest. Rationally he knew that he had seen a few during the Fell Winter from afar, but to actually see one up close was something in and of itself. He was pulled from his thoughts when a hand appeared near the edge of his vision and shook to get his attention. He looked up at Fili, who then took a loose hold of Bilbo’s shoulder and hurried him along the trail leading further back into the crack of the outcrop.

The trip through the crag was quiet. Even the brothers, who were wedged in on either side of the hobbit, were quiet, murmuring to themselves and sometimes to Bilbo, telling him to watch his step or that Bombur had gotten stuck up head between the narrow walls _again_.

And then after the tense claustrophobia that threatened to stifle the fifteen of them, the path opened up to blessedly cool air and the roar of water tumbling from dizzying heights. “The Valley of Imladris,” Gandalf said from behind Bilbo, “In the Common Tongue, it’s known by another name.” 

Enchanted, Bilbo whispered, “Rivendell,” and it was echoed by the wizard in an odd tone. The ensuing bickering of Thorin and Gandalf was lost on the hobbit in the heady sense of wonder Bilbo felt overlooking this place that he had only heard of in tales his mother had been so fond of. He could almost hear her words lace the glint of sunlight off of the white spires and the rumble waterfalls and it warmed him in the way that a fond memory would. A sudden and fierce love for this valley overcame Bilbo, which was second in intensity only to the desire to explore every nook and cranny of this place.

(Many, many years later, when Bilbo was old and gray, he would wonder if his love for Rivendell sprang from the amazement of his childhood or that is was the first time in this Quest that Bilbo felt like he was _going places._ )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is turning out to be a bit slower of a burn that what I had expected, but it's going places!
> 
> I am going back to college in... 5 days, holy shit. So I do not know how this will affect my productivity, but I will try to keep on top of this story and to keep you guys posted.
> 
> Comments, kudos, and criticisms are all met with equal enthusiasm! I am open to any suggestions or wishes for future scenes or events down the line. Hell, I just enjoy talking to you people.


	5. Still (and yet, noisy as hell)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Company's welcome to Rivendell is just about as warm as you would think, nearly everyone is cryptic, Bilbo comes to an awful conclusion, and Thorin's an ass.
> 
> EDIT: Now with (hopefully) fewer misspellings!

Bilbo was relieved to reach Rivendell. The serenity of the place was a stark contrast to the stress that he felt that he had been under since he left his smial and that was no small relief. The smooth stone under his feet and the surrounding greenery calmed his nerves as much as the roar of the waterfalls weaving in and out of the walkways and halls and architecture exhilarated him. Needless to say, the kinship Bilbo felt for this place was not going anywhere for a very long time.

However, Bilbo was not so oblivious as to assume that his companions felt the same in the slightest. 

Upon reaching the entrance of the Last Homely House they were greeted by an elf named Lindir who Gandalf exchanged pleasantries with. At this time, Bilbo glanced around the group discretely, trying to gauge the mood around him. Dwalin’s tattoos stood out harshly against his knuckles when he gripped his weapons so tightly, Dori and Nori seemed to habitually flank Ori and were nearly bristling, Glóin was jerkily gesturing to his brother in a way that he had seen Bifur use occasionally, and all in all, the Company practically vibrated with a cagey energy.

The only exception to this was Bifur, who seemed fascinated with an intricately carved stone spire off to the side of the group and was studying it intensely.

This nervous energy simply combusted upon the sight of a group of elves armed for battle approaching on horseback and surrounded them without warning. Alarmed shouting from the dwarves startled Bilbo and he was dragged back into a crush of bodies, much to his distaste. However, as quickly as it started, the panic among the two companies slackened as Gandalf and a stately elf leading the battalion embraced as old friends. At this, the Elven company around them drew back and the dwarves loosened formation enough for Bilbo to squeeze his way out to the side. 

Resolutely ignoring the odd looks that move had earned him, Bilbo watched as this Lord Elrond figure approached the Thorin and a conversation and dinner invite so terse that it raised the hairs on the back of Bilbo’s neck took place. 

Dinner was… eventful. Between the petulance and boisterousness of the dwarves and the cool judgment of the surrounding Elves, Bilbo thought it better to inhale the first satisfying meal he had been able to find in weeks and slip away than linger and feel the grate of his nerves against each other.

Letting the noise of his Company fade behind him, Bilbo padded away from the courtyard, down flights of pristine white stone stairs, through gardens and terraces and along winding paths, simply admiring the sights. It was only after the sun set and the ruckus from the dwarves slowly faded that Bilbo realized that he had also lost his way. After however much time he had spent wandering through the halls and arches, the engravings and passages all started to look the same and with the noise of the dwarves in the courtyard diminished, Bilbo had no way of orienting himself.

Halfway down yet another white-stoned hall, Bilbo was stopped by a gruff voice. “Burglar.”

‘Thorin, of course it’s Thorin,’ Bilbo grumbled to himself. Still, he took a deep breath and turned to the approaching dwarf, “Yes, Master Oakenshield?” Thorin swept to a halt in front of Bilbo, motionless even as Bilbo’s eyes skittered down and off to the side.

“You saved my nephews.” The statement lingered in the air, heavy and half-finished.

Bilbo glanced up at Thorin’s face briefly, before venturing a tentative, “…yes?”

“You should not have done that.” The thought slammed down on whatever hope Bilbo had that perhaps the dwarf of all people was going to thank him (‘Eru forbid,’ a small part of him huffed.).

“They are princes among their people,” Thorin continued, the scowl on his face permeating scorn into his words, “My kin should be able to take care of themselves.” Bilbo felt a knot of anxiety fall into his stomach, and despite the indignation he felt, he had trouble forcing out what exactly was on his mind.

Thorin eyed the hobbit before him, waiting for the hobbit to say something. Thorin’s patience was rewarded when Bilbo finally formed his response, “I apologize; I acted without thinking.”

A furrow formed between Thorin’s eyebrows, “And you weren’t when you were suggesting that those trolls should skin us?” The words ground against Bilbo’s consciousness in a crush of _‘You fool, of course he’s disappointed. Any person in their right mind would be.’_

The disappointment was almost enough to drown out Thorin’s next words. “Nevertheless, the Company owes you and your wit our thanks. Come, Lord Elrond offered his help with understanding the route into Erebor and ‘tis only practical that our burglar knows his way for _that_ task.” With that, Thorin turned his back on Bilbo and made his way to a nearby hall.

Shame and frustration rolling low in his belly, Bilbo trailed after Thorin, trying not to acknowledge the small part of him that glowed from the praise Thorin had given him.

This was how Bilbo found his way to way into a meeting filled with maps and infuriating riddles. Bilbo noticed in passing how exclusive the meeting was with only Balin, Elrond, Galndalf and Thorin present besides himself. This was probably for the better considering the hollering that Bilbo was sure handing the map over to Elrond would have caused within the Company. From the look of it, Thorin seemed to barely be holding back the impulse to snatch it back from Lord Elrond’s delicate-looking hands.

While the passage that Elrond gave them from the moon runes was both a puzzling thing, at the very least it gave them some idea as to when they should be expected at the Lonely Mountain. But as to what was meant by “the gray stone” and a thrush knocking thrice, Bilbo could offer nothing. Even after Elrond drew the gathering to a close, Bilbo‘s mind circled the riddle aimlessly as he followed Balin and Thorin back to where the rest of the dwarves were camped out.

Barely out of the light of the fire at the center of the gathering, Bilbo found a place to perch and watch as the the Company made most merriment that they could. This was put to a stop when off to his left, Thorin rumbled, “We will be out of this place before sunrise. Be sure to get adequate rest.” The resulting chorus of groaning seemed to catch a few of the gruffer dwarves off-guard, but eventually the moaning died down and the dwarves settled back into lively chatter.

Despite himself, Bilbo smiled quietly at the conversations of his companions around him. They were all whole and hale and in Rivendell, and whatever resentment he might have garnered from the Troll Incident seemed to have been forgotten the joy of having a roof over their heads for the night. Bilbo started laying out his bed roll a ways from the group, deciding that now was a good time as any to get a decent amount of sleep and avoid leaving this place with headaches that so often plagued ill-rested hobbits.

“Sleepin’ so soon?” Bilbo looked over to see the friendly visage of Bofur who had wandered away from the celebration and plopped down right next to the hobbit. 

“Ah, yes. I figure I should sleep while I can.”

Bofur shot him a mockingly dubious look and chuckled, “You aren’t avoiding us, are you lad?”

Bilbo’s ears went red and he stuttered out, “O-of course not.”

Bofur threw back his head and laughed, “Woo, you’re as see-through as clean-cut quartz!” Ignoring the strange sputtering that came out of Bilbo’s mouth at that, Bofur sobered up and leaned into Bilbo’s space. “You know if Thorin is gettin’ too… scowl-y and intimidatin’ you can lemme know right? I might not be a king or anything but I could probably take him—”

A spark of annoyance lit up in Bilbo, “Thank you, Bofur, but if I have a problem with Master Oakenshield then I’ll make sure he knows.” He knew Bofur meant well, but the thought that Bofur did not trust him to resolve his own conflicts made some contrary part of him flare up.

Bofur luckily did not take offense and only chuckled and shrugged. “I’ll trust you with that, Bilbo. Now, there’s still many a-song to sing and the night is young yet!” With that, Bofur heaved himself up and swaggered back to the group gathered around the fire where he was greeted with a cheer and many slaps on the back.

And Bilbo was left sitting on the outskirts, torn between all of the faces of this whirlwind of a day. “Badgered by trolls, then elves, and dwarves in a single day,” he murmured to himself, “And my wits are still intact. Oh, if the whole of Hobbiton could see me now, I can only imagine what they would say.”

And with that, two days of excitement caught up with the hobbit and he fell asleep almost as soon as his head met the ground, the sounds of his companions and his childish wonder doing nothing to keep him conscious.  
\----  
As the dawn of the next day broke across the valley of Imladris, two tall and ancient figures watched as the Company made their way East. Their previous company had left in a whirl of disbelief (Elrond) and frustration (Saruman) and left the two old friends to themselves.

“You will follow them?” Galadriel’s voice broke through the quiet.

“Yes.” The certainty in Mithrandir’s voice gave her no small measure of comfort.

“You are right to help Thorin Oakenshield. But I fear this quest has set in motion forces we do not yet understand. Something moves in the shadows, unseen, hidden from our sight. It will not show itself, not yet. But every day it grows in strength. You must be careful.”

“Yes.” Offering up no other explanations or assurances, he turned to leave.

“Mithrandir? Why the Halfling?” Galadriel’s soft question gave the wizard pause.

“Saruman believes that it is only great power that can hold evil in check. But that is not what I have found. I have found that it is the small things, everyday deeds of ordinary life that keeps darkness at bay. Hobbits seem to take to these deeds quite naturally.”

“Yes,” said Galadriel, ponderously, “but why this one? 

A pause, “Why do you ask, Lady Galadriel?”

“He is timid in a way his kind usually is not.”

“Ah yes,” Gandalf sighed, “I suppose he is. Perhaps I chose him because I am afraid, and he gives me hope.”

Galadriel turned to him with quiet acceptance in her gaze and in her faith he took no small measure of comfort, even as she seemingly disappeared into thin air.  
\-----  
Bilbo paused on his way and spared a moment to look back onto Rivendell's spires and gardens. He would miss this place, as brief as his stay was, but he knew he would try to come back at least once more.

"Master Baggins," came Thorin's voice from the front of the line, "I suggest you keep up."

Bilbo sighed and turned towards the rising sun, grimacing as it struck his face. And then something truly horrific took place.

The light of the sun broke over the mountains Misty Mountains and lit up Bilbo’s line of sight. Around Thorin there formed a halo of sunlight that highlighted his every feature in a disgustingly beautiful light and Bilbo’s eyes almost unintentionally traced along them in appreciation. Bilbo immediately came to an inevitable conclusion that Thorin was ridiculously attractive. Not only did he possess every trait that he found attractive, of course Thorin had to be attractive to boot.

Bilbo thought the only words that could truly describe just how in over his head he was.

_’Well, shit.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OTL I have no excuse for how late this other than I should just give up on majoring in bio and instead look the Bad Life Decisions major with a minor in Over-scheduling. So overall, I'm not too pleased with this chapter because of the long (LONG) period of time that it was written over but I hope you enjoy it, you lovely readers! I will try to get the next update out on a tighter schedule. Also, there is some dialogue between Galadriel and Gandalf taken from the movie, please note that those passages are not my writing and I have no claim to them.
> 
> As usual, I **love, love, love** comments, critique, ideas, and questions of any kind with a burning passion, so feel free to either comment here or send me a message! Either way I'd be super happy to talk with you!
> 
> (Also I wrote the last scene a bit tipsy just fyi. Please tell me if it shows)


	6. Drop (everything but the bass)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Green things and painful realizations.
> 
> EDIT: Another chapter down. Whoo!

Bilbo’s newfound attraction to Thorin was bothersome, to say the least. Perhaps the physical appreciation was not where the trouble lay, but rather in the way that his attraction quickly spiraled into a longing for some sort of validation. This worried to hobbit more than he cared to admit.

However despite every bit of Baggins in Bilbo repeatedly listing the endless reasons as to why pining after Thorin was a Bad Idea, the Took-ish part of him seemed to take particular delight in imagining just how _nice_ the tiniest bit of physical contact with him would be. These bouts were usually accompanied by an embarrassing amount of detail on the most mundane things like fingers brushing or their knees pressing against each other.

Luckily (or unluckily, depending on how you looked at it) the next few weeks of travel, Thorin seemed to keep his distance from Bilbo. In some ways, distant disapproval was easier to deal with than confrontational distaste, so in return Bilbo also kept away whenever possible.

This left Bilbo to interact with the rest of the Company, which he found himself branching out with.

One night, perhaps a week out of Rivendell, Bilbo stumbled across Bifur and Óin rooting through the underbrush of the forest on his way back from checking that Dori (who was on watch) had gotten something to eat. The two were bantering back and forth in a language that Bilbo had heard the Company use often when they seemed not to have noticed the hobbit’s presence. 

“Master Óin, Master Bifur? Can I… can I help you with something?”

Bifur popped up in a manner that reminded Bilbo of a particularly fearsome-looking rabbit, before jostling Óin to get his attention. “ _Kulhu-_ Oh, Bilbo! What’re you needing, lad?”

“I was wondering—“ Bifur made a slightly frantic motion next to Óin, his fingers bunching to touch his lips and then spreading out, which reminded Bilbo of just how hard of hearing the older dwarf was. “I was wondering,” Bilbo started again, enunciating each word, “if you needed any help here.”

“Ah yes, an extra set of hands would do us good! You Halflings are good with plants, aren’t you? I’m looking for some arnica. They’ve got long leaves and longer stems with these yellow flowers. It’s good for swelling and bruises. I doubt it grows outside of the mountains but I’d been hoping I could find some.”

“Ah, maybe you could use black sampson?”

“Eh? Speak up!”

“ _Black sampson._ It has a pink flower and a big black, spiny center…”

“You mean echinacea? It’s useless, nothing on that plant can do anything!”

“You juice the roots.”

“Eh?”

“ _Juice the roots_. You can then use the juice as an ointment. But you won’t find them growing until we reach another open area.”

Óin looked a little bit miffed at the new bit of information, but nodded in concession, “Hmm, I’ll take your word for that laddie.” He smiled gruffly at Bilbo before gesturing towards Bifur, who had been previously been systematically ripping apart a leaf. “Bifur here’s looking for edible roots and stuff. Do you think you would know about some of that?”

Bilbo smiled shyly before turning to Bifur, “If you’re looking for things to eat…”

A good hour or two later when the trio found their way back to camp, arms laden with roots and bundles of leaves, Bilbo had never been more grateful that he had actually listened to Hamfast’s animated tirades about anything green and growing.

Bilbo was not oblivious to the imperious look that Thorin threw their way upon their return, but he supposed that he could walk into camp with a surefire way to get Smaug out of Erebor and he would still earn himself that look from the dwarf. The thought eased some of his disappointment.

And so the days stretched on. But as they approached the Misty Mountains, the terrain became more rocky and the greenery quite scarce. But on the bright side, Bilbo had found himself new companionship in the quiet company of Bifur and Óin’s good-natured grouching (and by extension, Glóin’s endless tales of his wife and son). 

However as the Company began scaling the foothills of the Misty Mountains, their good humor faded into peevishness and left Bilbo grasping at whatever friendly interaction he could find. While it was obvious that the dwarves were more comfortable being closer to familiar stone, the treacherous path and the punishing pace that Thorin set took their toll on the group morale. 

Tension among the dwarves came to a head the night of a frightful thunderstorm. While it had been a fairly mild morning, clouds rolled in a bit past midday and the resulting downpour quenched even the brightest of moods.

And then, just because Bilbo had thought to himself, “Nothing could make this group moodier…” after the usually even-tempered Bombur snapped at him, something worse happened. And since there was nothing that this quest did by halves, this something came in the form of nothing less than gigantic, hulking stone giants hurling bits of mountain at each other.

In the resulting chaos, Bilbo was shaken so roughly that he lost his footing and in an attempt to rebalance, stepped backwards onto a loose stone. Said stone then gave away, sending him straight down the sheer cliff face that the path lay on. In freefall, his fingers scrabbled at the sharp gravel until they caught on a sturdy ledge just below the feet of the Company. A true surge of panic seized in Bilbo’s chest, locking this joints and making his legs kick wildly, looking for a foothold but finding only gravel and sheer stone. Distantly he heard shouting and a great crunch, but that seemed secondary to the fact that he couldn’t find a single damned foothold.

The pressure in Bilbo’s chest became unbearable and his breaths grew shorter and faster and more painful and oh Eru he was going to die here and none of the Company would notice and none of his family would _know_ that he was dead in a ditch somewhere and he could just tell that he would only be remembered as a meek social failure that never did anything and happened to own Bag End until he went on an ill-advised adventure and _Lobellia was going to steal all of his silver once he was gone he just knew it-_

In a moment of panic-induced clarity, Bilbo heard his name being called and he found it in himself to lift his face upwards. A gloved hand was right above him and in a moment of recklessness he reached for it, only to lose his grip and start to fall again. Bilbo was able to jam his torn fingertips into a crack right below that, but he knew that this second grip would not last for long.

In that moment he suddenly became hyper-aware of his surroundings. The edges of the ledge dug into cuts on his fingers he didn’t know he had. His pack weighed so heavily on his shoulders that at this moment it seemed nearly unbearable. His torso and face pressed up against the loose dirt and protruding rocks of the cliff face, but his legs kicked at open air. Bilbo pressed his face into the gravel before him, screwing his eyes shut, trying not to think about what would happen if— if—

A weight slammed into his side and knocked a breath out of him that he didn’t know he had. Arms boosted him up to where numerous hands groped at his arms and hauled him to the path and suddenly Bilbo could breathe again. Bilbo twisted to look behind him and cried out at seeing Thorin’s vambraces peeking out. Almost as the cry left his lips, Dwalin grasped for Thorin, only to succeed in pulling him up once he started to fall again.

Breaking away from the stifling hands holding him in place, Bilbo pressed his back to the rock face farthest from the edge of the path trying to get as far from Dwalin and Thorin as possible; they were sure to be angry and they were the two biggest dwarves, bar none but Bombur. Bracing for the inevitable, Bilbo loosened his limbs and jaw, widened his stance, and snapped his eyes to the ground. 

Amid the heavy breathing and low murmuring, Dwalin’s gruff voice was loud and jarring. “I thought we’d lost the burglar.”

Thorin’s voice, while quieter, was much more scathing. “He’s been lost ever since he left home. He should never have come; he has no place among us.”

The bottom of Bilbo’s stomach dropped out and guilt flooded in and filled him to the brim. As Thorin stormed past him, Bilbo did not move nor did he speak and prayed that Thorin would just _move on_ but he only did so after stopping in front of Bilbo and staring down at him.

Bilbo did not move until the hesitant shuffle of boots passed him by, first Thorin’s and then the Companys’. He didn’t budge when a burly hand entered his line of vision and slowly waved. Bilbo did not look up, but nodded in acknowledgement and walked in the direction that the hand (probably Bofur’s) nudged him.  
\-----  
Bilbo perched on his bedroll in the most secluded corner of the cave that he could find. Around him the dwarves snored on, oblivious to his turmoil.

On one hand, a part of Bilbo wanted to go back to the Shire. He could travel back alone to Rivendell with the provisions that he had and from there go back to Hobbiton and pretend that he had never left. He could be in Bag End, in his armchair, among his books and trinkets and know that he had tried to be a more adventurous hobbit but apparently he was just not made for it.

Bilbo could just _see_ the reception that he would receive. His Took cousins would poke and prod him for stories of the outside world and he would indulge them, embellishing his stories with details that would thrill them. But a majority of his Baggins relatives wouldn’t acknowledge the fact that he went anywhere other than on a particularly long stroll unless he brought it up himself (or as ammunition against him). 

He would be an oddity and treated with equal amounts of trepidation and fascination, but at arm’s length. He would have gone places and seen things outside of what any hobbit could possible imagine. But he would also be expected to entertain guests, to remain as he had for nearly the past ten years, to— to be civil to any person he just happened upon in public—

Unbidden to Bilbo came a sudden image of Sadoc, smiling cordially as the weekly market bustled around them and saying in a deceptively calm, low voice, “You clumsy, useless thing, how did you even make it past Bree?”

Something foul curled in Bilbo’s stomach at that; he knew that all he would be able to do in response was frown as Sadoc would inevitably laugh off the statement. However, Bilbo wondered if anything Sadoc might throw at him would be worse than the damage Thorin could do to him, physically or otherwise.

The saddest part, Bilbo realized, is that it wouldn’t be. He was more terrified of the disapproval of a dwarf he had known for less than six months than anything that Sadoc could do to him. 

The thought almost took the floor out from beneath Bilbo’s feet and almost immediately, Bilbo decided that he had to go. He would be happier away from Thorin. At least in the Shire Bilbo would be able to meet someone’s expectations of him.

As quietly as he could, Bilbo stuffed his blanket and bedroll into his pack and grabbed his walking stick. Using every bit of stealth in his body to make his way to the mouth of the cave, he pointedly kept his eyes off of the snoring bodies of the dwarves he passed over. He was going to miss the companionship he found among them, brief as it was. It was going to be strange going back to his silent smial.

He sighed to himself, looking out into the torrential rain and harsh, rocky peaks laid out at his feet. The way back would be slick and steep, with or without the downpour and guidance. 

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Muffling the yelp that almost escaped him, Bilbo jerked towards the voice. ‘Oh no, not Bofur.’ he cried inwardly as Bofur ambled towards him, ‘It’s going to be so hard to break this to him.’

“I- I have to go back.” Bilbo mumbled, trying to look anywhere else, “You heard Thorin. This just… isn’t working. I shouldn’t be here.”

“No, no, you can’t turn back now. You’re part of the Company, you’re one of us.” Despite the small curl of warmth the phrase brought to Bilbo’s belly, he would really, _really_ love to never have this conversation.

“You’re homesick, I understand.”

“No, it’s not that.” Bilbo started haltingly, “I- I just don’t know what I was thinking.” Bofur made a noise in his throat but Bilbo forced the words around the knot of fear. “I shouldn’t have left home in the first place. I’m not cut out for… for not belonging.”

Bilbo could hear Bofur exhale slowly and wished that he could take back the words. 

“I wish you all the luck in the world. I really do.” A hand gently settled on his shoulder and Bilbo realized with a jerk of emotion that he was going to miss Bofur dearly.

However, before Bilbo could turn to leave, he heard a strange thumping and grinding of metal. “What’s that noise?” he asked, finally looking up to Bofur’s face.

The dwarf’s eyes got larger before saying, “Laddie, please tell me that your letter opener glows for stuff other than orcs.” Ice gripped Bilbo’s stomach and he looked down to see a sliver of blue peaking out of his sheath.

“Oh no,” Bilbo whispered as cracks in the floor began to open up and Thorin began shouting a warning. Bilbo brought his eyes up to meet Bofur’s, who looked just as surprised as he did, and before anything else could be said, the floor dropped out beneath the two of them.

In probably the most outward display of disapproval of his circumstances that Bilbo had ever expressed yet, all the way down into the darkness Bilbo screeched a string of curses that would have even the surliest of Bree’s drunkards blushing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! OK, so from the looks of it, I will aim to get another chapter out by the end of January at the latest and will try to keep them coming as often as possible. I feel like this chapter is pretty central to the development of Bilbo's character and will lead into an interesting dynamic between Thorin and Bilbo later on down the road. That, and I really love exploring the other characters so I'm hoping to write more of them...
> 
> As a side note, "kuhdul" translates to "what" according to Beta-Version of the Neo-Khuzdul dictionary that can be found on scribd.com posted by durinsfolk (check it out! It's s00per cool!).
> 
> Thank you so much for reading this story and please don't be afraid to leave any comments, questions or concerns in a comment or message them to me! Either way I love any feedback I can get and love to hear what you have to say. Every comment, view and kudos means a lot to me and I want you to know that I appreciate it.
> 
> Happy holidays! I hope you have a great day.


	7. Trick (because treats are hard to come by)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Company's jaunt around Goblin Town is just about as pleasant as it sounds.
> 
> EDIT: Now updated!

Bilbo awoke to darkness.

Not a quiet, dry darkness, but rather a putrid darkness that rang with dripping noises and a hissing voice coming closer and closer.

‘Something isn’t right,’ Bilbo thought, the slightest bit dazed, pulling himself up, ‘The cave we were camped in was perfectly dry. Why would there be dripping?’

The hissing voice was coming even closer, “Yes, yes, yes! Gollum, _Gollum!_ ” The sliminess of the voice made Bilbo retreat back into a crack in the wall, watching as the oddest creature he had ever laid eyes upon slinked out of the shadows and started to circle what looked to be a goblin.

The head of the creature was disproportionately large to the body, which consisted of a lanky torso attached to gangly limbs that were attached to spindly fingers and toes. The grey skin stretched over its protruding bones and number of ribs that Bilbo could see from a good twenty feet away were enough to give Bilbo the idea that the creature had been down here for a very, very, very long time.

At the creature’s feet, a sound and a frantic movement came from the— apparently alive— goblin. Bilbo jumped, hand already going towards his sword but this was proved moot when the creature hefted a rock it had gripped in its hand and _beat the poor goblin bastard with it_. Bilbo had to muffle whatever noise he made as to not be noticed, watching with a morbid fascination as the creature kept pounding away until the goblin stopped moving. Knowing its deed was done, the creature casually dropped his weapon and goblin was dragged off.

‘Let’s see,’ Bilbo thought to himself, ‘I’m who known how far underneath the ground, surrounded by rock maze, and in the dark with some sort of homicidal creature. Now how in the name of all that is green did I even get- _oh.’_

_They were falling. They were falling and it was terrible. Bilbo was thrown about and squashed and hustled about first by gravity, then by grubby clawed hands. In the resulting blur he felt his pack being tugged at, his hair pulled, his toes stomped on and the onslaught of contact was enough to distress him greatly. With his heart in his throat, Bilbo ducked and wove his way to the back of the group, hoping and praying that who or whatever was assaulting them would just_ stop touching him. __

_Miraculously, it worked. The pressure and noise from all sides abated and from his spot behind a railing off to the side, Bilbo watched, wide-eyed as the Company was hurriedly stripped of all of their belongings and dragged along the suspended walkways that made up the city they seemed to have fallen right into._

_Seeing no other options, Bilbo trailed behind the line that the Company had been hassled into, desperately trying to keep out of sight and think of anything that could get them out of this mess. He was so focused in on this train of thought that Bilbo barely managed to draw his sword and dodge the first lunge a goblin that finally did notice him._

_.The scuffle that followed mostly consisted of Bilbo trying to make sure that the jagged blade of the goblin went anywhere but firmly inside of his belly. This unfortunately ended up with Bilbo being backed to the edge of a walkway with blow after blow being met with frantic dodging. In an act of desperation, Bilbo lashed out at his opponent, crying out as he landed a solid hit against the goblin’s forearm. However the blow was enough to make Bilbo lose his already shaky balance on the rickety bridge, and only after grasping franticly at the goblin’s arm he fell down into the chasm below them._

_Airlessness. Space. A blow that knocked the breath out of his lungs, and then darkness._

And now here he was, allowing only the tiniest bit of the eerie light from his sword to escape its scabbard in order to follow a creature that obviously had no qualms against killing into the dankest (and only) caves that he had ever had the displeasure of exploring.

Because really, was there anything else he could do?

He stopped when his foot met something smoother and cooler than gravel. Looking down, Bilbo found a ring, a simple band of gold. ‘Perhaps it was dropped from up above… The only person that would miss it would be a goblin.’ Bilbo mused as he picked it up, ‘There would be no harm in a small souvenir.’ 

The cool metal under his fingers gave him a strange rush of optimism, but Bilbo brushed it off and pocketed the ring, following the noises of a goblin corpse being dragged against rock  
.  
Bilbo tracked the strange creature to the shore of a small underground lake with a small island in the middle upon which sat a shanty that looked just as raggedy as the creature. Said creature had hauled the goblin it had in tow to this island and seemed to be beating it even further. Caught up in watching, Bilbo forgot that he was still in the line of sight until it was too late and the form upon the island stopped singing and turned, it’s eyes shining with the light of Bilbo’s sword.

Bilbo gasped and ducked behind a stone to his side.

A few more solid pounding noises followed Bilbo’s retreat and Bilbo was dismayed to see that the meager light of his sword died out. Shaking, Bilbo took a deep breath and peeked out to the side of the rock.

Nothing. The only things moving were the small ripples across the lake. Bilbo plastered his back to the rock once again and held his breath. 

Over his own heartbeat, Bilbo heard a shallow rasping.

There was something breathing right above him.  
\----  
So apparently the ring that Bilbo picked up was a magic ring. One that was able to make him invisible. A very sarcastic part of Bilbo wondered how many times he had wished for such a power under very different circumstances.

Perhaps Bilbo should back up a little. Through a game of riddles and the slightly underhanded “What have I got in my pocket?” line, Bilbo had tricked the creature Gollum into showing him the way out of the maze of caves. At a later date, Bilbo would look back and berate himself for forgetting _every single riddle_ he had ever learned at the time but for now his attention was more focused on the matter at hand.

You see, before setting out Gollum had returned to his tiny island to retrieve his “precious.” After seeing that it was gone, he let out a gut-wrenching shriek and had immediately came at Bilbo, oozing vicious energy and throwing insults and accusations alike. 

Anyways, Bilbo had been doing his damned best to escape from Gollum and he had managed to squeeze himself through a crack in the wall of the tunnel he was in. However this threw him to the ground and apparently threw the ring he had clasped in his hand up into the air. 

And because Bilbo’s luck did nothing in halves, the ring just so happened to fall right onto his finger.

In that moment, the world was plunged into grayscale and blurred in a way that made Bilbo want to sink his fingers into the nearest rock to make sure it was there. The air in Bilbo’s lungs left him in a shaky exhale and to his uttermost surprise Gollum passed right over him, snarling to himself.

Bilbo twisted from side to side, trying to figure out what kind of ghost-scape he had landed himself in. Despite the dull color around him, everything around him seemed to throb with an unnerving energy and the very walls that had once been so dark and concrete now looked as if they had layers enough that he could peel them away and peer straight into the heart of the mountain, if he so wished. The rush of hope-power-recklessness that the discovery set free in him was delicious, and for a moment he could see himself sitting awhile there, basking in the unfamiliar swell of emotions in his chest.

However Bilbo turned away from the thought when he heard Gollum halt his sobbing and was instead muttering to himself. “It won’t say what it’s got in its pocketses. It knows, it knows the way in, it must know the way out! Yes! It’s off to the back door, that’s it. Ssss, sss, gollum! We must go and see, precious, make haste!” At that, Gollum rushed off ahead, muttering to himself furiously.

It was as if fortune decided to save all of its favors to Bilbo for today. As quietly as his feet could take him, Bilbo followed Gollum through the caves and tunnels wanting nothing more than to get out of the accursed place.

Gollum finally stopped and Bilbo almost cried upon seeing his friends rush past the opening where he hovered away from. Gathering his wits about him, Bilbo eyed the way ahead of him. He could possibly make the jump over the crouching creature, but he could also just…

Bilbo thought about the sword hanging in his belt. 

It surely would be the easiest way out, and there would most likely be no one to mourn the loss Gollum in the world. But as the musing crossed his mind, Gollum turned down the seemingly empty tunnel he came from with a look of despair so great that Bilbo couldn’t bring himself to take his sword to his neck. Unheeded, Gollum started slinking back into the darkness, passing Bilbo by for a breathless moment.

However, Bilbo foolishly let out a sigh right after Gollum passed him and Gollum’s piercing eyes swung around to where the sound came from. A low growl issued from his pinched mouth and before Bilbo could even consider anything else, he turned and ran towards the lit tunnel just as Gollum screeched and sprang upon the spot where he was naught a few seconds ago.

With a despairing yowl coming from behind him, Bilbo stumbled into the light of the exit and dashed out the opening of the tunnel, leaving Gollum behind with his wailing and cursing.

It is to be noted that while Hobbits can be as silent as the grave when they so wish, they do not quite live up to that legacy when they are crashing through underbrush away from the most frightful thing they have ever laid eyes upon. After what seemed like hours of stumbling through the trees and feeling his pants snag on a host of different thorny bushes and branches, Bilbo caught sight of a tall gray hat through the blur of forest around him and slowed his sprinting to a trot.

As he drew closer, the squabbling of the dwarves became clearer until Thorin’s baritone broke through the noise, “I’ll tell you what happened!”Already hearing the bitterness in Thorin’s voice, Bilbo pressed himself to the rough bark of a pine, hiding despite the fact that he was invisible.

“Master Baggins saw his chance and he took it. He’s thought of nothing but his soft bed and his warm hearth since he stepped out of his door! We will not be seeing our Hobbit again; he is long gone.”

The words settled heavily in Bilbo’s belly and despite the strange rush that escaping the mountain had given him, his heart sunk. Why he thought that he would be welcome into the Company again, after he tried to sneak away, he didn’t know. He should have left when he had the chance.

Bilbo felt his hands start to shake and his breath become shorter and shorter. Frustration overtook the panic, and to his mortification Bilbo felt tears building up beyond his eyes.

Bilbo scrubbed at his eyes furiously, but the scratch of the band of gold on his finger against his face gave him pause and he swallowed. He… he did have something to show for getting lost. He hadn’t just run off as Thorin had assumed of him and had won a token for his time below Goblin Town. He was able to win something of his own from this adventure, and— and he should be recognized for it. There wasn’t anything that Thorin could do to him in front of the others and… he needed to let Thorin know that— that he couldn’t be scared off like that.

With that, defiance pushed at his mind and he slipped off the ring and crept into the clearing as the dwarves yelled back and forth about whether they should go and retrieve their burglar or if he was lost to either the path to Rivendell or their impromptu trip to Goblin Town.

“Um, I— I’m right here.” Bilbo’s quiet utterance caught the attention of only Ori, who was hovering around the edges of the arguing crowd. The young dwarf grinned, much to Bilbo’s surprise and motioned to the Company with a “go on!” gesture before tugging at Nori’s tunic to get his attention.

Encouraged by Ori’s delight upon seeing him, Bilbo tried again.“ _I’m right here._ ” Almost instantly, the Company turned and fell silent except for the shuffling of feet and occasional mutterings.

“Bilbo Baggins!” Gandalf exclaimed, “I’ve never been so glad to see anyone in my life!” Bilbo smiled and Bofur ambled forwards with Bifur taking a few steps behind him.

Bofur clasped his shoulders in his sure grip and cried, “So glad you’re back with us!” Bofur stepped to the side and Bilbo walked towards the now chattering group, Bofur’s hand serving as an anchor.

The duo stopped in front of Thorin, and Bilbo’s quiet joy faded into equal parts nervousness and defiance. ‘Remember,’ Bilbo thought as he squared himself for the verbal lashing he was sure to follow, ‘At least he won’t lash out with Bofur right here. Just let him yell it off.’

Off to the side, Thorin barked, “Quiet!” before turning on Bilbo and asking in a surprisingly low tone, “Why _did_ you come back?”

The question caught him off guard and it took Bilbo a few minutes to respond, “I couldn’t not come back. It wouldn’t be right, for me or any of you.” Bilbo kicked at the ground and around him the dwarves cheered and Bofur shook his shoulder friendly-like. 

He could do this; he could see this through. He was sure of it.

Then an eerie howling rang though the air. “Out of the frying pan,” Thorin growled. “And into the fire! Run, run!” Gandalf finished.

He could do this. Really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello one and all! I hoped that you liked this chapter (which was definitely a learning experience for me to write) and that if you have any comments, questions, or critique that you'll let me know!
> 
> Thorin and Bilbo aren't interacting as much as I originally intended, but I find that forcing the two into the same scene results in something a bit... hollow. However after the Carrock, this should fix itself and their relationship will develop in at least a few aspects.
> 
> I hope to get the next chapter out soon! Have a great day!


	8. Hang (from damnably dreadful heights)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo encounters yet more instances where he is reminded of just how much he _hates_ heights. Also there are feelings and badassery.
> 
> Edit: Sorry it took so long to get this out! I'll probably be updating a few more chapters tonight tho!

If you had told Bilbo three months ago that one day he would find himself up a tree along with twelve dwarves and a wizard throwing flaming pinecones at a host of wargs and orcs, he would have silently wondered which field of Farmer Maggot’s mushrooms you snuck into before offering you a guest room where you might sleep off whatever you were working through at the moment.

But alas, reality has a way of throwing the most unassuming people into situations that are too ridiculous to make up and as Bilbo lobbed another pinecone, he mourned this fact.

Then as if the state of the Company was not comically dismal enough, a tremendous ripping sound came from the massive tree that they perched in and Bilbo’s world tilted on its axis. With a tremendous crash, the tree slammed to a stop on an overhang above a terrifying gap of open air.

Bilbo luckily caught onto a stout branch near the trunk to which he pressed himself as tight as possible. Around him, the Company scrambled to hold onto anything that would keep them from dropping to what would most definitely be a swift death below them. As it had on the mountainside, these sounds faded to Bilbo who was just sick and tired of the gut-dropping fear of being dangled over impossible heights.

A particularly pained yelling from across from him caught his attention though. Slowly Bilbo looked up from where he had pressed his face into the bark of the pine’s trunk, trying not to think about the _nothing_ underneath his feet. Dwalin, Dwalin was yelling something and his face scrunched up in a way that made Bilbo’s throat clench. Bilbo jerked his face off to where Dwalin faced and a whimper fall from his mouth at the sight.

Thorin was striding down the trunk of the tree the Company clung to, tall and more furious than Bilbo had ever seen him. His strides were long and as he passed Bilbo, the hobbit noticed the light that glinted off of Ocrist could only be described as wicked in the light of the burning grass. A twist of fear both for and of their leader raised its head as Thorin roared and charged directly at a horribly scarred white orc perched on enormous warg and surrounded by other orcs and their riders. His lunge however, was cut short by the paw of the white warg batting Thorin to the ground and grinding him into the dirt almost effortlessly.

Bilbo watched on breathlessly as the warg retreated, circling back with its orcs shouting taunts that Bilbo couldn’t make out. From his place on the ground, Thorin heaved himself up and readied his shield before the warg and rider leapt forward with a look of sadistic glee and a wide swing of the rider’s mace.

A despairing cry left Bilbo as the mace met Thorin’s face with an awful cracking noise. The dwarf king was thrown to the side like a rag doll. Bilbo’s attention however was drawn to the yelling across from him as he saw the dome of Dwalin’s head drop out of sight.

In that moment, a terrifying thought struck Bilbo. If Thorin were to die at the hands of this orc, Bilbo would have to watch and promptly be killed thereafter. At this, a fire caught in Bilbo’s chest.

He didn’t come this far to fall to his death, he didn’t face trolls and goblins and whatever Gollum was just to wait to be killed by a pack of orcs, and he most certainly did not leave hearth and home to be forced to watch the death of one of the bravest and rudest beings he had ever had the displeasure of meeting.

Fueled by adrenaline and indignation, Bilbo heaved himself up onto the trunk of the tree where he could see that the orc and its rider had followed Thorin and now had picked him up and was shaking him violently between its jaws. Fumblingly, Bilbo drew his sword and watched with despair as Thorin was thrown again. Without even gathering his breath, Bilbo threw himself down the length of the tree, trying not to scream in the hope that the orcs would overlook him.

Obviously they had been preoccupied with beheading Thorin because a scant moment before the lackey that had stepped into to behead Thorin completed his task, Bilbo reached them. With a wild shout Bilbo rushed the orc and Bilbo’s sword found its way into its side with a sickeningly wet thud.

Slightly dazed, Bilbo pulled his sword from the dead orc and placed himself between the white orc and Thorin’s body. Gripping his sword a bit tighter, Bilbo noticed his hands were surprisingly steady. 

A growled word from the white orc was enough to set his surrounding minions in motion, two pairs of wargs and their riders slowly approached Bilbo, whose panic was starting to make itself known again. Despite this Bilbo squared his stance, figuring that if he was going to die then at least he would put up some semblance of a fight.

Then, shouting and bellowing uproariously, Fili, Kili, and Dwalin hurtled into the fray, hacking and swinging like Bilbo had never seen them. In the resulting skirmish, Bilbo wildly swung his sword this way and that just trying not to get crushed underfoot while keeping an eye on Thorin who had not moved from where he laid. A blow from a warg threw him to the ground. Without a moment to spare, Bilbo rolled, stumbled up, and lashed out unsuccessfully at the warg that was set to sink his teeth into the hobbit. However the warg was soon drawn off when its rider had an unfortunate encounter with Dwalin’s battle axe.

Through the mayhem Bilbo was not able to see the white warg and its rider advancing until he was a few scant feet away with a grin on its face that was nothing short of malicious. Steeling himself for defeat, Bilbo looked the orc in the eye, knowing that if they fought he would not last but a few seconds.

However before Bilbo could charge, an inhuman screeching cut through the air. Without warning, to Bilbo’s left an eagle bigger than he thought was possible almost casually plucked a warg and its rider off of the ground and threw it over the cliff to its death. Bilbo would have screeched his dismay of yet another impossibly huge set of foes but when huge talons wrapped around his arms and yanked him upwards he felt a sudden lack of air within his lungs.

This was of course fixed when he was _dropped_ onto the back of another eagle. At a later date, several of the dwarves admitted that at the time they had not heard him scream, and had assumed that the noise was simply another eagle’s cry.

In the present, Bilbo gripped the mass of muscle and feathers below him, trying to process what just happened and not panic. After his thoughts finally settled, he gingerly hoisted himself up. Around him, were a flock of huge eagles, all of them as fearsome-looking as their battle had suggested. In the talons and on the backs of each of the eagles were two or three dwarves. Desperately, Bilbo started counting.

Nori was held in the talons of one eagle off to his right, with Balin resting on top. Next to them, Bifur sat stride his own eagle, and seemed to be calmly examining the feathers between his fingers with fascination. “One, two, three…” Clutched in the talons of Bifur’s eagle was Bombur, who was shouting back and forth with Bofur who rested in the talons of another eagle where Dwalin also rested. “Four, five, six…” Above Bofur were Glóin and Óin. “Seven, eight…” Off to the right, Gandalf sat astride his own eagle and below him, Ori and Dori clutched to each other, the older of the two pressing Ori’s face to his shoulder. “Nine, ten, eleven…” Twisting around, Bilbo caught sight of Fili and Kili, who were braced against each other’s sides and yelling off to the side. “Twelve, thirteen… wait. Where is—?”

_“Thorin!”_

Fili’s cry made Bilbo follow his line of sight to where one eagle flew a bit further from the remainder of the flock. The motionless form in the clutches of the talons of the eagle made Bilbo whimper deep in his throat. Thorin was limp and deathly pale in the early morning light.

What would the Company do without him? What would Bilbo—?

Bilbo clamped down on that certain train of thought. That was Fili and Kili’s uncle, the last thing that should be on his mind was the state of his… his childish crush of all things!

Still, worry bubbled to the forefront of Bilbo’s mind for the seemingly endless ride. Finally the Company members were set off onto a strange rocky protrusion in the middle of the foothills of the Misty Mountains one by one.

Scrambling off of his eagle, and hurriedly giving it a small bow for propriety’s sake, Bilbo scampered towards the gathering of dwarves with his stomach and heart doing all within their power to make Bilbo sure that he knew just how bad this situation was.

A cry of joy went up from the crowd, and Bilbo blew a breath out. Thorin was alive, he was alive and all was well. But just as he thought that, the crowd of dwarves parted at a muffled growl from the front to give Bilbo a straight line of sight to where Kili and Glóin were heaving Thorin up to his feet. Finally getting his feet underneath him, Thorin looked up and met the hobbit’s eyes.

Bilbo froze.

Haltingly and silent, Thorin made his way towards Bilbo until they were two feet from each other. Bilbo was terrified.

This was where Thorin exploded. This was where he would lash out for holding the Company up and worrying them and endangering himself and all of the others. This was where harsh words would finally turn to actions and once again Bilbo would be nothing more than a disappointment.

Thorin’s gaze never left his face and he started slowly, “What were you doing? You nearly got yourself killed.” Bilbo bowed his head, and let out a huge enough sigh to make him feel as if his chest was collapsing. “Did I not say that you would be a burden?” Bilbo nodded in the slightest, knowing that the dwarf was definitely angry enough to hit him in front of others. “That you would not survive in the wild?” 

A calloused hand reached in and slowly nudged his chin up at this. Bilbo slammed his eyes shut, not wanting to see Thorin’s face twist in the way that Sadoc’s had whenever he had felt the need to see Bilbo’s face to make sure that he was being put into place.

“Did I not say that you had no place amongst us?” This cut Bilbo deep, and he silently hoped that Thorin would just _snap_ already and— and do something other than talk. Bilbo could deal with blows, those were easy to shrug off.

“I know,” Bilbo whispered, “I know I don’t.”

Only silence found the unconscious mutter, and Bilbo’s heart sunk, knowing that he was not meant to say anything. But nothing happened. No palm met his cheek, no boots kicked at his shins, there were no fists aimed towards his ribs. In fact, Thorin’s touch had become lighter if anything.

“Master Baggins,” Thorin rumbled, “Please open your eyes.” Knowing that going against Thorin would be the worst choice he could make at this moment Bilbo eased his eyes open and looked to Thorin’s face. Instead of the fury that he expected, the only thing that he found on Thorin’s face was a strange, focused sadness.

Slowly, such that Bilbo could see every movement, Thorin leaned in and wrapped his arms loosely around Bilbo. “I have never been so wrong in all of my life.” Thorin’s half-heard half-felt confession sent relief crashing through Bilbo and slowly his arms came up to embrace the dwarf back.

“I am sorry that I doubted you,” Thorin murmured next to his ear. Bilbo let out a shuddering sigh as the arms around him tightened and held him in a way that he had not been for _years._

“I would have doubted me too,” Bilbo muttered into Thorin’s shoulder. “I mean,” he continued as Thorin pulled back and clapped him on the shoulder, “I’m not a hero or— or whatever you confounded dwarves find noble.” 

Chuckles broke out around them and Bilbo was horrified to remember that they were surrounded by twelve dwarves and a wizard who had all seen that. “Oh no…” he moaned as he hid his reddening face in his hands. He was never going to live this down.

“Oh.” Thorin’s exclamation made him look up to the dwarf, whose face was lit up with wonder as he stared at a point beyond Bilbo’s shoulder. He turned and Thorin’s expression made sense.

A single protrusion backlit by the sunrise, a mountain stuck out from the horizon; it had to be the Lonely Mountain. “Erebor,” Gandalf confirmed, “The Lonely Mountain, the last of the great dwarf kingdoms of Middle-Earth.”

“Our home.” The joy in Thorin’s voice as he murmured those words was almost as breath-taking as the view, and in that moment Bilbo was certain he was right to go on this quest.

However as the Company had stopped in awe of the peak in the distance, the sudden stillness made Bilbo realize just all that had happened in the span of one night. 

Flashes of just how many times he could have let his friends down, how many times he could have died, how many times that only luck had kept him alive hit him with a vengeance. Almost immediately, Bilbo’s hands started shaking more and more until he had to shove them into his pockets and his breath became short enough that he had to slip off to the side, trying not to think about how many curious looks were probably pointed at his back.

Quickly, Bilbo found a small ledge that he could drop onto and there he perched alone, with his forehead against his knees and trying to muffle the sobs that came from his mouth. ‘We’re alive,’ he thought to himself, ‘that’s what matters.’ The sentiment did nothing immediately, but turning it over and over in his head was enough to help him slow, slow, slow down until he felt the pressure ease off of his chest. Taking a deep breath, he stood and scrubbed at his eyes.

Bilbo finally braced himself and scrabbled back up to the flat of the Carrock, where the dwarves that were not still laughing and beholding the sight of their homeland were looking for a way down.

Not yet feeling quite up to talking, Bilbo made his way to stand next to Bofur, who looked to smile and nod at him but then went back to looking for a staircase that Gandalf had sworn was _somewhere_ around here. Bilbo had never been more relieved for someone to not ask where he had gone and how he was doing. The feeling was only made more pleasant by the fact that he thought that maybe, just maybe, he had found somewhere he could belong with these people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my GOSH readers this has been such a quick update and I'm SO EXCITED because this is one of the chapters that I've had planned out for some time and I kinda like how it turned out despite that my editing on it was a little fast and loose. On another note, this fic so far has leaned fairly heavily on the movie dialogue and imagery, but as I have yet to see all of Desolation of Smaug yet and I'm not too wild about what I've seen so far, I'll be playing around with settings and events for the next few chapters and drawing more heavily from the book.
> 
> ANYWAYS, as usual I live to talk to you lovely people so any critique or comments are welcome and I hope you liked this chapter. Have a fabulous day!


	9. Lay (No, not that kind)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo notices a few things about his own body and tires himself out. Also Thorin is acting strangely.
> 
> Edit: Now edited!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey darlings! This chapter has references and reminiscences of past abuse! Please take care of yourself!

By late afternoon, the Company had made their way down the Carrock and had set up camp at its base because many of them were too tired to go any further. They found a clearing near stream whose waters ran cool and clear from the mountain and quickly settled down. Bilbo and Bifur almost immediately were asked to go and forage for anything that they could eat from the surrounding vegetation. They were lucky enough that the soil near the base of the mountain was not too rocky to support wild blueberries and (slightly over-ripe) raspberries and in their shirts they brought back as many as they could carry. 

The two had returned to find Óin meticulously checking each and every dwarf over, no matter how stubborn. Given by the dejected looks of the faces on some of their companions, Óin had made it through at least the Ri brothers and Bombur and was now harassing Dwalin into removing his armor. Dwalin meanwhile seemed to be looking for any and every excuse to get away from the persistent healer. 

Bilbo chuckled quietly and shrugged when the warrior shot a look of pleading to the hobbit. Bilbo tapped the hand that Bifur had been using to carefully line up the berries in some unseen pattern. “We should probably make another trip,” he murmured, “I saw some tomato plants on the way back.” And off the two went, in companionable silence and oblivious to the perplexed stares following them.

In Bifur’s silent company, Bilbo was able to focus on the fact that despite the way his feet were throbbing and his arms aching , he was more restless than he anticipated. He still felt as if he could walk through sundown if the Company so decided. However, he knew that this was most likely not going to be the case, and decided to stay silent about his jitteriness.

By the time they got back, laying more fruit out for the Company, Óin had finished looking over most of the Company. He ambled towards the duo, grumbling, “Well, come on. I haven’t got all day.” Hefting out a huge sigh, Bifur started shrugging out of his own armor and Bilbo finally caught on to what was going on.

Bilbo glanced around the loose circle that the Company had formed, trying to find someplace other than right at the center to deal with Óin’s ministrations. Finally, Bilbo scuttled over to the side and started undressing. When his hand met his vest, he paused at the plain fabric he found there instead of his brass buttons before remembering them popping off in Gollum’s cave. Bilbo shrugged off his coat and vest before working the wooden buttons on his shirt open, pointedly not looking anywhere but where his fingers hopelessly fumbled.

He had not been bare in front of anyone else for a long, long while. After what seemed like much too long of a time, Bilbo’s shirt hung open and loose around him and Óin made his way towards him. Óin vaguely flapped his hand at Bilbo and the hobbit haltingly took off his shirt. Óin looked at Bilbo for a moment before muttering lowly, “Ya don’t have any armor, do ya lad?” Bilbo shook his head, hadn’t they known that? Bilbo glanced down and startled at the colors he found across his torso.

His skin had not been those brilliant blues and purples for years.

Óin hummed low in his throat before continuing, “’M going to touch your back and then your chest. Tell me if something pains you more than those already do.” Bilbo nodded, not wanting to tell the dwarf that he the pain of those bruises had been nothing more than background noise, something that was easy to tune out and work through.

Thick fingers prodded first at the back of his neck before making their way down, down, down to the small of this back before starting further up and working their way around to Bilbo’s front. Óin mumbling as he worked, which Bilbo was immensely grateful for; the grumpy musings kept him from recalling a different set of digits digging into similar marks they so often left.

“Of all of us you’re the worst off, laddie, except Thorin of course. We all took quite a few falls back there, but none of us know what you…” Óin paused over a bump low on the left side of Bilbo’s ribs. “This rib wasn’t set right when you broke it.”

Bilbo knew the bump well; it was Sadoc’s most violent outburst. Perhaps a month before their relationship ended, Sadoc had spent a night down at the Green Dragon and had returned in the early morning quite inebriated. Bilbo still did know what sent Sadoc off, only that he had awoken in their bed to the other slurring out vicious accusations and shaking him roughly.

Before he had known it, Sadoc was on top of him and a fist found its way into his side. Pain had cracked through Bilbo and left him breathless and he could just tell something in his chest was off. Sadoc, still pinning him down, kept on slurring and snapping into Bilbo’s face. Bilbo had been so winded by the blow and confused that he could not remember when Sadoc had stopped, only that through the pain he was preoccupied with that Sadoc had rolled over to the side and was now fast asleep.

Bilbo told Óin what he had told the neighbors that had noticed his stiffness, “I took a fall from a ladder when picking pears a while back.” Óin hummed absently, much like Mr. Greenhand had when the lie spilled out of Bilbo, oily on the tongue, before continuing his examination.

The old dwarf finally declared him relatively healthy, even if it was obvious that the fall he had taken earlier could have been so much worse. “You hobbits are made of sterner stuff than meets the eye,” Óin declared before stepping back. “Try to keep from pressing on any of the bruises you already have. As soon as I can find some arnica or something of the like, I’ll make sure you’ll have something to help with those.”

Bilbo nodded his thanks and Óin turned and barked, “Brother!” before hustling his way towards the now sour-faced Glóin.

Bilbo sighed, already feeling guilty for lying to Óin. After taking one more look at the bruises covering a good portion of his skin, he pulled on his shirt, noting the throbbing that echoed through most of his body. After buttoning his shirt up a voice took him by surprise.

“Burglar.” Thorin was looking at him with an unreadable expression.

“Yes?” Bilbo prompted, praying that the dwarf had not been standing there for too long.

“The… red berries the others are eating. What are they?”

Bilbo blinked slowly, “In the Shire they’re called raspberries.” Why was Thorin asking him this? Did no one in the Company know of raspberries?

Thorin hummed and nodded. “You had better get some food before you have to fetch your own.”

A tick of irritation made Bilbo frown, “I was the one who fetched them in the first place.” Bilbo’s eyes grew wide and he clamped his mouth shut.

Instead of snapping back, Thorin bowed his head a tad and said, “Apologies. I’ll ensure a portion is saved for you.” With that, Thorin turned and made his way to where his nephews were sitting. The interaction left Bilbo more than a bit confused, but finally he decided that he was over-thinking things and shrugged on the rest of his clothing and trotted over to the remainder of the Company.

Perhaps an hour later, energy and moral among most of the group was still running high enough that they decided to light a bonfire. . To pass the time, ballads and drinking songs were sung and as the night went on they got bawdier and raunchier (to Dori’s very obvious distaste). Some whittled at wood, others started a game of dice, and all-in-all it was a spirited night. 

After a particular ballad that left Bilbo blushing to the tips of his ears, Gandalf piped up. “Bilbo! How about a jig? I do so love the East Farthing spring dances.” A cheer went up among the group, and from his spot between Bombur and Fili, Bilbo felt a curl of nervousness start in his stomach. “Oh, I’m—“

“Come, Bilbo!” Glóin cried, “Perhaps we know a song for you?” Bilbo paused among the dwarves clamoring to decide which song that hobbits might have heard or had taken a liking to. He was among friends, and they did seem to want to see some kind of hobbit-ish dance…

“A fast song will do,” Bilbo called out, standing to brush the grass off of his pants, “Just… just as long as it’s upbeat.” The dwarves moved on from arguing about if hobbits trip easily with their feet to just which song would suit.

“Perhaps the one with the farmer and the fish? The long one would probably do.” Thorin’s comically stoic suggestion struck the rest of the Company as a good idea and almost immediately Kili and Bofur were belting out an awfully off-key starting chord, with the others quickly joining in until even Thorin was singing softly more to himself than others.

Bilbo in the meanwhile meandered in closer to the fire and started bouncing on his heels, trying to get a feel for the rhythm of this song. He had done this often at festivals that were either large or important enough that he had been compelled to go to, even if the very thought of being there made his stomach drop. To hobbits, dancing was a very important social act, but to Bilbo it also meant a way to avoid making conversation. He had come to enjoy dancing simply because it was how he spent many larger social events that the Shire held.

After he had a handle on the beat of the song, Bilbo was off and went into one of the more subdued spring dances that Gandalf had mentioned. Despite his nervousness, he found that he felt as if he was a part of the merriment rather than the center of it. It felt nice to know he was among friends and to just move and burn off energy had been carrying around for far too long. Deciding that slipping into something livelier would be fun, he switched to one of the more upbeat steps he knew and was delighted to hear that the Company simply sped up to match his pace.

Around and around he bounced and spun around the fire, paying no attention to the pain in his body or the looks that he felt the others throwing at him. Finally in a messy chord, the song ended and Bilbo slowed to a stop and was mortified to see that he was out of breath and sweaty. Perhaps he was more drained than he had thought.

However a hearty cheer among the group distracted him from his embarrassment and the shouted compliments and softer-than-usual slaps on the back that accompanied him back to his space between Bombur and Fili warmed him. Behind him, Glóin hefted himself up to launch into one of the most pun-dependent stories that Bilbo had ever had the pleasure of hearing and Bilbo was glad to see that his mood was not sliding into self-deprecation and instead hovered between exhaustion and contentment. After Glóin sat among howls of laughter, Fili and Kili stood to tell an anecdote concerning the day before Kili’s 50th birthday that only sent the Company into further hysterics.

Bilbo was in the middle of a bout of chuckling when a form settled down next to him where Fili had previous sat and said, “Getting the goat back to its owner was a task that deserves a story of its own.” Fili and Kili cheered and took up Thorin up on his suggestion, seeming content as the center of attention. Bilbo wasn’t sure to what think of Thorin breaking from his habit of sitting near the outskirts of the circle and barely engaging outside with the Company outside of orders. But Thorin did not say anything to him, simply sat and chuckled along with the group and Bilbo secretly reveled in the indirect heat of his form (as embarrassing as it was).

One-by-one, the group began to succumb to the day’s exhaustion and started drifting to sleep against each other or curled up on the grass. Although Bilbo did not want to, the comfortable quiet murmuring of the Company and the late summer heat began to lull him to sleep as well. Reminded of the times that he had camped out with his Took cousins as a fauntling, Bilbo curled up where he was, trying not to pay attention to the warmth of Throin’s body next to him.

Bilbo finally fell asleep, staring into the ember of the dying fire and feeling like a part of something for the first time in a long while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! (I'm super tired rn so I'm gonna make this quick) Thanks for reading this chapter and this fic! As usual, I would love to talk to all of you and I LOVE critique so feel free to comment. You guys are all fabulous and really make writing this a Great experience!
> 
> Also, blurbs about other characters from different POV's are in the works, but I'll keep you darlings updated on all that.


	10. Show and Tell (Lots of telling)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something of Bilbo's past comes to light and he manages to trick a giant. And somehow this isn't the oddest thing to happen to Bilbo.
> 
> Edit: Got to this one!

Bilbo woke up to the sun hitting his closed eyelids. Slowly, he turned over, feeling the grass beneath him crunch and enjoying the pool of warm sunlight he seemed to be in.

“Oi, burglar.” Bilbo shot up at the sound of his title and squinted up in the early morning light. Dwalin stood over him, with his face as impassive as his voice. “We’re headed out. The wizard days there’s a friend nearby we can get aid from.” Bilbo struggled up and Dwalin paused before adding, “He said there will probably be food too.”

Bilbo nodded, “That’d be very nice.” Dwalin pinned him with a quiet look before lumbering off to wake his brother in a notably louder manner. Soon enough, all of the dwarves were up and about and they set off, following Gandalf’s lead.

The half-day's walk was one of the odder days of Bilbo's life (and he didn’t exactly have a scarcity of those nowadays). The weightlessness of the pack he had lost in Goblin Town and the pit of hunger in his stomach was a constant reminder of how close to death they had been not a dozen hours ago. However moral remained high and their procession was a cheery one between the antics of Fili and Kili, Bofur's teasing and stories, and Thorin’s good mood.

The leader of their party seemed to have trouble keeping up with Gandalf, and had opted to fall back near the end of the procession, near Bofur and Bilbo, and seemed to have an especially pinched look on his face whenever they passed through a rough part of the trail. Nevertheless Thorin's voice and the line of his mouth was notably less harsh than it had been during the previous weeks.

On top of this development, the dwarf had had started acting odd around Bilbo. Whereas before Bilbo was regarded with cool indifference, now the dwarf would seek Bilbo out and pepper Bilbo with questions of a whole host of things. Bilbo supposed that Thorin's sudden interest would fade after a few days, after the novelty of the idea that Bilbo's panicked actions actually did some good wore off. The thought made him sigh a bit, as a not-quite-small part of him did enjoy the attention.

The two had just fallen back into an awkward silence following a story Bilbo told of the last wedding he went to in the Shire when Bofur nudged his side and asked, "So ya got anyone back at home? A proper hobbit such as yourself, I'd be surprised if ya didn't!"

Bilbo could feel his face heat up spectacularly and he scratched his nose, wondering how to formulate his answer. "A partner?" he asked eventually, and when Bofur chimed "Aye!" and Thorin nodded, he decided to give the glossed-over answer he usually gave.

"Well, I used to. But he… well he moved on before we were married. That was about… eight, maybe nine years ago?" The air around Bilbo suddenly grew icy as half of the Company turned to look at him with wide eyes.

Finally, after a silence Ori piped up, "Master Baggins…" (oh god were those _tears?_ ) "I'm so sorry, I never knew—" Ori's sentence trailed off into somber silence. Bilbo was silent, wondering just what it was that he had said, before it hit him.

"Wait, no! He didn't… he didn't die or anything! He just moved on, it happens sometimes!" The Company started muttering to themselves and by now even Gandalf noticed that his procession had stopped, and was looking back down the path at the group with impatient curiosity.

Thorin slowly ventured, "Master Baggins, I am not sure if your partner… if he…" Bilbo had never seen anyone trail off with such an intense look on their face.

In the silence that followed, Bilbo was reminded of why he hated so talking about his past relationship. They pitying looks were all par for the course by now, but this was absurd.

Fed up, Bilbo finally spit out, "Oh for— He found someone else!" The words were bitter on his tongue, and they still left a sour feeling even after all of these years. It had been so long since he had talked about Sadoc to anyone, hobbit or otherwise.

If possible, the air got colder and a few of the dwarves shuffled inwards. Suddenly Bilbo wished for the muttering around him to start up again. Even Gandalf, who had meandered closer, had a pinched look on his face.

At length Bofur said, "You two were engaged and he… he broke it off?" Bilbo nodded, hesitantly and immediately the expressions around him turned sour and scowling. Behind him, Bilbo heard Bifur start muttering in Khuzdul, with an almost-violent edge.

Bilbo backed up a few steps and glanced around to the opening in the circle that the dwarves had formed around him, wondering how quickly he could dart away from them if need be. 

Fili stepped forwards, his face grim. “Bilbo,” he started, “Dwarves are only married once.” It sounded like an explanation, but an incomplete one.

Bilbo slowly replied, “Hobbits usually are too…”

Fili shook his head. “No, dwarves will only marry once. Romances and dalliances are just as common as in men, but courtship is very, very intentional. To break it… to break an engagement is…. It’s just not done! Especially for another—” Here Fili made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat and Kili took over the talking.

“What he means to say is that dwarves love only once, and that marriage is reserved for that one person only. Ones, I think they’re called in Westron. We are taught to hold our Ones above even Kings, so to willingly abandon one that you claim is your One is an _awful_ thing to do.”

“Oh,” Bilbo blinked, unsure of what to think, “I did not know. I’m sorry to have brought it up.” 

Immediately a shout of, “No!” came from his right as Dori leaned in, with his eyes wide. “You shouldn’t apologize for his insult, Master Baggins. He wronged you!”

Bilbo was shocked into silence, and into the resounding quiet, Thorin chimed in, “Were he in a dwarven society, he would be ostracized; no one would even look him in the eye after he abandoned you.”

At that, Bilbo suddenly recalled the faces of Gilly and Poppy Banks, Sadoc’s twin daughters, five years old last he knew. They were cheerful and polite, and Sadoc’s face always lit up whenever they were within his line of sight. Before he knew it, words spilled out of Bilbo’s mouth unchecked.

“But he’s not, is he? He’s not a dwarf.”

Quiet overtook the group again and Bilbo looked around. None of the dwarves would look at him directly, much less answer his question and it puzzled him. Even Thorin’s mouth had set itself into a thin line, and his eyes were trained on the ground.

Feeling a sinking in his stomach, Bilbo just bowed his head to Gandalf. “Could we continue on, then?”

Gandalf seemed to squint his eyes at Bilbo (it was quite hard to tell underneath those thick eyebrows) but nodded and started ambling forwards again without saying a word. One by one, the dwarves followed suit until Bofur took Bilbo’s hand in his and pulled him along after the group. Bilbo followed, and remained mostly lost in his own thoughts.

This was the first time anyone had not asked Bilbo what drove Sadoc away, if they said anything at all.  
\-----  
Beorn was huge in both personality and figure, and as Bilbo stared up and up and up at the mountain of a man he found himself frantically running over the facts that Gandalf had told him.

_Don’t mention harming or eating animals. He’s kind enough but don’t anger him, don’t even think about angering him. He’s very strong, old, and easily peeved, but friendly enough. Oh yes, and he’s a skin changer that just so happens to share the form of a bear as large as a small house. Did I remember saying that one shouldn’t make him angry? Yes, well, we are going to dazzle him with the string of mistakes that we’re calling a quest and then every five minutes a new pair of dwarves will show up and this giant bear-man will be so overwhelmed with our follies that he will not object to an influx of new guests._

“Who are you and what do you want?” The booming question made Bilbo start a bit.

“I am Gandalf,” the wizard next to him proclaimed, “We have been traveling and we have lost all of our luggage and are in need of assistance. My companion here and our Company would greatly appreciate your help.” Bilbo had the sudden feeling that he looked like a fauntling hiding behind his mother’s skirts.

“Never heard of you,” Beorn growled, “And this little fellow?”

“This is—” Gandalf was cut off by Beorn saying, “He can speak for himself.”

Bilbo gathered his wits about him and bowed low. “I am Bilbo Baggins, of Bag End.”

At this Beorn hummed and leaned down closer to Bilbo, who suddenly felt impossibly smaller. “And what manner of creature are you, Bilbo Baggins of Bag End?” Around the lump in his throat, Bilbo was managed to croak, “I am a hobbit, Master Beorn. From the Shire.”

Beorn stayed still and just kept his eyes trained on Bilbo, who repressed the urge to babble out of nervousness. Finally making up his mind about something, Beorn nodded and declared, “I like him! Come in and tell me your tale.” Beorn turned and motioned towards the enormous wooden house behind him.

Through the cavernous door they went, and Bilbo was amazed by how huge all of the furniture was. The beams of the ceiling seemed miles away and the roughly hewn furniture made Bilbo feel like he had been living in a doll house his entire life. Outside a window to the south was a huge, colorful garden that Bilbo was just itching to walk through, even if the bees zooming to and fro among the flowers were the size of his fists.

Without warning Beorn plucked Bilbo up by the nape of his jacket and dropped him on the end a huge bench, by which the skin-changer took a seat in a huge, high-backed chair. Gandalf perched next to Bilbo, and had already pulled out his pipe in preparation to do a great deal of talking when Beorn smiled fearsomely and boomed, “So what is your story, little hobbit?”

Bilbo blinked and looked at Gandalf, who looked at Bilbo with a bit of a panicked look, but motioned him onwards.

“Well,” Bilbo started, “We started out in the Shire, and started heading East when a few weeks after we had started off we had made camp for the night and I was told to go take some food to a few of our friends who were watching our ponies.”

“So there are more of you?” Beorn asked, “More hobbits?”

“Well, no-” Gandalf jumped in, “We did not want to bother you with all of us at once. Might I call them?” At Beorn’s nod, Gandalf let out a sharp whistle and into the open door of Beorn’s house strode Dori and Thorin. 

“Dori, son of Rizah, at your service.” Dori stepped forwards and bowed. “Thorin Oakenshield at your service,” the prince declared, bowing low as well.

Beorn nodded at the two. “I don’t need your service, thank you,” he grumbled, to the apparent annoyance of Thorin, “But I expect you may need mine. If you are Thorin— son of Thrain, son of Thror, I believe— then you are enemies of goblins and are not up to any mischief in my lands. Now were these two the ones that were supposed to be watching the ponies, Bilbo Baggins? Go on telling then!”

“Ah,” Bilbo started with the attention redirected at him. “No, they will probably be here later. But as I was saying, when I reached them they told me that we were missing two of our ponies, so we followed the uprooted trees and trampled underbrush until we reached a campsite. And gathered around a fire were three humongous trolls.”

Beorn hummed and nodded. “So your friends were eaten then?

“What? No. No! They should be, well— might we call them?” Beorn grunted an affirmative and Gandalf whistled shrilly again. Around the corner of the door stumbled Ori and Fili, who both introduced themselves shortly and scurried off to their respective relatives.

“Fili here was one of the ones I took food to,” Bilbo continued, “So we found these three enormous trolls and Fili and Kili decided that I should do something about it so… so I decided that I should burgle something from them.”

And the afternoon wore on in such a manner, with Bilbo recounting their tale, his voice getting firmer as the tale wore on and dwarves intermittently making their way into the house. Bilbo found himself warming up to the giant of the man, who would ask many attentive questions and laugh uproariously (but not unkindly) at their follies.

By the time that Bilbo reached their stay in Rivendell, Thorin had come to stand to his left, between him and Beorn, and was nodding along with Bilbo’s words. When retelling his time in the caves below Goblin Town (leaving out the bit with the ring), Bombur finally came in with the rest of the Company.

And when he had wrapped up their tale, Beorn rocked back in his seat and exclaimed, “A good tale! The best I’ve heard in a while! You might be making some of it up, little hobbit, but you at least deserve supper for such a story.”

Amid the cheering of the Company, Bilbo pressed his head to the edge of the table and let out a huge sigh of relief. The pat on his back came as a bit of a surprise to him, but the bigger surprise was that when he turned his head, Thorin was looking at him with a slight smile that gave him more satisfaction than it probably should.

Bilbo found himself smiling back at the dwarf before Beorn begged the attention of Bilbo again, wanting to know more about these strange hobbit creatures. And among the hustle and bustle of ponies, dwarves, and dogs Bilbo laughed along quietly with the stories being thrown to and fro and the boisterousness resulting from the free-flowing mead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAY! CHAPTER 10 IS DONE I'M SO HAPPY! Thank you to all of the readers that have stuck with me thus far and I hope as I write more that you still are able to come up with reasons to keep on reading!
> 
> As usual, comments are accepted (read: Strongly encouraged and utterly adored) so if you have ANYTHING to say, please do so! <3
> 
> Now, down to business, as you can see I am diverging from the movies and sticking with the book, which is a trend I think I'm going to keep up in the future tbh. ALSO I started up a drabble series and am accepting suggestions on different characters/prompts/whatever (not requests, more like "Oh, could I hear about this?" and chances are I'll say "yep!" and throw myself into it).


	11. Buzz (Woody is MIA though)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains bees, gardens, and gratuitous speculation about the origin of hobbits. Also Thorin is an awkward babe.
> 
> Edit: got this one edited too!

By the time that the sun set, the hearth had burnt low and more than a few members of the Company were dangerously close to nodding off. Beorn’s stories and dwarven songs had faded into the songs of crickets against a backdrop of animals bustling around and low murmuring. Bilbo himself was resting his chin on his hands, enjoying the feeling of a full stomach and the rare quiet.

Without an obvious cue, Beorn stood up and rumbled, “I must go take care of some errands. There are beds set up near the back should you decide to sleep. I suggest not going outside tonight however, regardless of what you hear.”

Without leaving time for any questions, the giant ducked out into the night and loped off into the treeline.

“Let’s close those doors,” Thorin said, “It will help us get a good night’s sleep.” It took four of the strongest dwarves to close the doors and as everyone settled in for the night, they all acted as if they did not hear the distant roar of some manner of animal.

It was the same roaring that woke Bilbo up periodically though the night, making the night relatively sleepless for him.

Bilbo was fully awoken by a particularly loud bout of laughter from the main open area of Beorn’s house. This time, sunlight was streaming through the window above the pallet of straw that served as his bed and Bofur and Fili (who had slept by his sides) were nowhere to be seen. After idly listening to the buzz of bees outside and the chatter of his friends, Bilbo hoisted himself up and staggered towards the table where seven of the dwarves sat, eating cornbread, honey, and cream.

“Bilbo!” Bofur greeted jovially, “Glad you made it, lazybones! Bombur almost got to your share!” For that, Bombur jabbed his elbow into his brother’s side and turned to greet Bilbo as well.

“Ya wouldn’t _believe_ how well I slept last night!” Bofur yammered on as Bilbo scrambled up to perch between him and Ori, “I’ve slept on mattresses less comfortable than that hay. I think that Beorn fellow just harvests it himself by the state of those fields off over the hill. Speakin’ of, where is he? I’ve seen neither _hair_ nor _hide_ of him since last night.”

The dwarves present all groaned and rolled their eyes but across the table, Fili piped up, “He’ll be OK, Bofur. If he gets into any trouble he can just _claw_ his way out!”

Amid the new chorus of complaining, Ori muttered to Bilbo, “They’ve been making these jokes all morning. It’s awful.”

“How un _bear_ able,” Bilbo quipped, without even thinking. At that, Bofur and Fili laughed uproariously while Ori buried his head into his hands and the rest of the dwarves bemoaned Bilbo’s treachery. The laughter helped some of Bilbo’s sleepiness fade into good humor, and he chuckled to himself.

“Speaking of bears…” someone muttered and from the bed area, Thorin stumbled in.

The king looked barely alive with his eyes mostly closed and his steps slow and uncoordinated. “Good morning, Thorin,” Glóin greeted and the dwarf in question grumbled something unintelligible in response.

Bofur chuckled and leaned in to say softly to Bilbo, “I honestly don’t know _why_ he keeps wakin’ up so early if he can’t even remember his own name at such an hour.” Around the bread Dori had given him, Thorin muttered something but it quickly trailed off into half-hearted grumbling. Bilbo then realized that every morning that he could remember, Thorin had always been awake before most anyone else.

The table fell back into easy conversation as Thorin slowly started to wake up and become more aware of his own surroundings. It was then that Bilbo learned that along with Beorn, Gandalf had also been missing since last night, they would stay for another three days, and there was a fair-sized river a few minutes’ walk away, among a few other facts.

Excusing himself quietly, Bilbo hopped down from the bench and decided to make his way to the river to wash his clothing and bathe.   
\-----  
Making his way back towards the house, feeling more refreshed than he had since he left his smial, Bilbo’s attention was caught by the impressive garden that he had been admiring yesterday. The hobbit eyed the bees that made their ways through the flowers, wondering how (if at all) he could enter such a garden without coming out riddled with bee stings.

Deciding that he had heard none of the others complain about stings despite being much more likely to accidentally disturb the insects, Bilbo crept his way into the garden. He was immediately delighted with the ¬familiar sight and smells of sunflowers, prairie stars, and a whole host of plants that Bilbo had seen Hamfast coo over whenever they traveled to Bree to visit his favorite seed-dealer.

The bees, Bilbo quickly discovered, could almost be considered friendly. They would whirl around his head periodically and land on his shoulder or nose for a few scant seconds before darting away. However, for the most part they left him alone and went about their own business. The greenery, his earlier bath and the solitude within the garden was good for Bilbo’s nerves, and he felt as if for the first time in months he could breathe without minding how much noise it might make.

Bilbo meandered through the garden, appreciating its colors and the shadows that the stalks threw. After finding a sunny spot in a curve of the path lined with dogwood shrubs Bilbo sat down and breathed in the smells around them, simply appreciating the silence. After a long while, he heard a pair of boots crunching his way.

A shadow fell over Bilbo’s face and he opened his eyes and blinked when his eyes met Thorin’s. They regarded each other silently before Thorin asked quietly, “Might I sit with you awhile?”

Hesitantly, Bilbo nodded and closed his eyes against the sun and listened to the rustle of Thorin’s clothes against the backdrop of the buzz of the bees that hovered around them.

“Hobbits take joy in gardens and the like, do they not?”

Bilbo hummed and nodded in response, deciding not to read too closely into the question in favor of enjoying the late summer sun. 

“Why?”

Bilbo’s eyes blinked open and he glanced over to Thorin, who had pinned him with an intense stare. Quickly, Bilbo’s gaze fell to the ground between his crossed legs where he took to fiddling with a few blades of grass. “Hobbits…” Bilbo stopped his explanation to ask quickly, “Do you know of the Green Lady?” Thorin shook his head and Bilbo restarted.  
.  
“In Elven tales it is known that both Elves and Men come from Eru, but also from Eru came the Valar. There are eighteen Valar in total, though most do not count the wives in their tales. There is Ulmo of the seas, Manwë of the winds and sky, and Varda of the stars. There are others, but I often forget their names. The Green Lady, Yavanna, is also one of them. She holds power over all things green and growing in the Earth.” Bilbo smiled at the tale, as it was a favorite of his Baggins relations to tell. “Before the coming of the Elves and Men, Yavanna was deeply afraid that all of the Big Folk would not respect the trees and flowers that she loved, and was permitted to create Ents.”

“I’ve heard of those,” Thorin murmured, “Are they not called Tree Shepherds?”

“Yes, those are the ones.” Bilbo nodded, “But the Ents were great and could be terrible if they wished, and Yavanna wanted a race to understand her ways. So she appealed to Eru to create a race of her own. When he granted her wish, she made hobbits from seed and sod.”

“Like dwarves…” Thorin murmured, “Dwarves were made from stone in Mahal’s impatience to have Eru’s creations arrive. Eru discovered us and Mahal almost destroyed us in his guilt, but Eru took delight in us and allowed dwarves to awaken with the Elves.”

“Then is Mahal one of the Valar?” Bilbo asked.

“I do not know,” Thorin admitted, “You would have to ask Balin.”

Bilbo nodded, but started when Thorin reminded, “You have not answered my question.”

“Oh! I— I’m sorry! Um, since hobbits were made by The Green Lady and she delights in any plant, hobbits often keep gardens to appease her. We are already of the farming sort, but keeping gardens and growing your own food is seen as an act of honoring her. Good luck, if you will.”

Softly, Bilbo added, “My neighbor, Hamfast Gamgee is the best gardener in all of East Farthing. He is so favored by the Green Lady that even his children have his green thumb, young as they are.”

“So gardens are like alters?”

“Mmmm,” Bilbo considered the thought. “Not quite. Hobbits do not see her as requiring such things. Rather, we hold festivals in her honor and acknowledge her hand in the food we eat and the ground we live in. Alters would be too… direct for our customs.”

Thorin nodded slowly. “Before the dragon came,” he said, “the mountainside and the fields around it were thick with trees and fields. There will have to be much effort to restore them.”

The burglar hummed, wondering if Thorin talking about Erebor was a way of him having something to say, something to fill the silence.

“It would delight me…” Thorin said at length, “It would be useful if…” The dwarf paused and Bilbo glanced over and saw him brooding. A stirring of nervousness made itself known in Bilbo’s stomach but it was quelled when Thorin finally intoned, “If you were to help restore those fields and forests, Erebor’s people would gladly welcome you. They would gladly welcome you even if you didn’t, but if you were to take part in such a project you would be put in a place of authority.”

Bilbo looked back to Thorin, who seemed to take a sudden interest in the state of his boots. “I…” Bilbo said, “I did not know you held me in such a regard.”

Thorin’s gaze snapped up to Bilbo’s face and he murmured, “You saved my life. Of course I hold you in the highest of regard.”

A lightness swelled up in Bilbo’s chest before he could push it down and though he knew it was dangerous, he took quite a bit of delight in the praise. Bilbo was sure that the tips of his ears had turned pink at the comment.

However, before the moment could go on any longer, they heard a call from outside of the garden. “I don’t know who’s in there, but lunch is about done and if ya want any, I suggest you get movin’!”

Almost thankful for the interruption, Bilbo quickly stood up and turned towards the dwarf. “Should we go?” he asked quietly, wondering why Thorin looked so surprised. Thorin quickly composed himself however, and nodded, taking the lead out of the garden.

(If Bilbo was completely honest, he would mention to Thorin they passed the entryway three times before the dwarf successfully lead them out. He decided against it.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just had a really crappy few days that accumulated to me losing both my ipod and my phone, realizing that I'm kinda tighter on money that what I originally thought, and trying SO HARD not to think about what the hell I'm gonna do this summer. So in order to combat some of those feelings I wrote this! I hope you enjoy!
> 
> As usual, I love any comments/questions/concerns/critique AND I'm still open to any suggestions for the drabble series I have in the works (which is oh! so cleverly named Brought Low World Building).


	12. Tripping (not in the drug way)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mirkwood is just generally awful. But there are some upsides (few and far between, but they exist).
> 
> EDIT: Fixed some of the pacing that was annoying me in this chapter. i hope you enjoy!

Three days later the Company left Beorn’s house, some with heavy hearts and others chomping at the bit to get going. Over those days, Bilbo had grown quite fond of Beorn who, after reappearing during supper of the second day, continued to make conversation with Bilbo whenever he could. Many times, upon hearing stories of the Shire, Beorn had declared that he should like to visit the Shire and meet more of these “odd, little bunnies.”

Most of the members of the Company seemed puzzled by this fondness, though a few seemed hostile towards this development. Thorin especially, appeared to make it a point to be present for each of these conversations and to place himself between the two. Even without Beorn present, the dwarf king could often be seen with Bilbo, if not quietly talking to the burglar then silently keeping the other company.

Bilbo was not sure what to make of the continued attention, but decided that making a fuss about it wouldn’t do any good, so did not mention it. Besides, Thorin’s quiet company mixed with the Bofur’s ever-present chatter were enough to stave off the restlessness that many of the dwarves were now dealing with.

But those days passed and now with their packs heavy with bread and preserved fruits, it was time to leave. Promising Beorn that they would return the ponies once they had reached Mirkwood and (on Bilbo’s part) to return to visit, the Company made their way north.

It took them two days to reach Mirkwood and though no one would comment on it, there was unease among the Company despite the high spirits. This unease was only justified when they reached the entrance of the forest.

Bilbo had never felt the need to describe anything as a “maw” before he set eyes on the break in the forest that served as the beginning of the path.

They set up camp and sent the ponies on their way, deciding to spend one more night outside of those woods. Around the fire, the Company ate sparingly from their rations, knowing that it they would not last as long as they should like, and chattered among themselves. Soon enough the group fell into silence as they either fell asleep, sat watch, or quietly contemplated the next leg of their journey.

Bilbo was among the contemplators, and his thoughts were heavy. Perching on a log that had been hauled near the fire, Bilbo absently twisted blade upon blade of grass in his hands, watching the entrance intently.

Bilbo was startled out of his thoughts when a body thumped down next to him and rumbled, “What troubles your thoughts?”

Bilbo glanced over to Thorin quickly before returning to look into the pitch black of the woods before them. Finally he quietly started, “These woods are unsettling. They feel… sick somehow.”

Thorin hummed, “Well, Thranduil _does_ dwell in them.” It took a few moments for Bilbo to catch the thread of humor in that, but he decided not to rise to the bait.

“It’s not that.” Bilbo murmured, “It’s in the trees.”

At this, the two of them shared a worried look. “You don’t want to go through on this path.”

Bilbo nodded before sighing, “But I know that there’s no other way. Or at least, no better way.” When Thorin didn’t respond, Bilbo backtracked. “Not that I’m saying that you are wrong in choosing this way! I wouldn’t go so far as to say that but simply that— that—” Bilbo could almost feel the scornful look Thorin was probably sending him so he just stopped talking, hoping that Thorin wouldn’t take notice of the slight.

“But…?”

Blast. Bilbo sighed before piecing the words together slowly, “I… do not have a good feeling about this leg of the Quest. I worry about— I worry for our safety.” A broad hand found its way to Bilbo’s back, and Bilbo fought the urge to curl in on himself. He did not mean to insult the dwarf; it had just sounded like that and oh Eru why didn’t he think before he spoke—

“I worry too,” Thorin softly confessed, “That is nothing to be ashamed of.” Eventually, Bilbo felt his quick breaths even out and the spot of contact on his back served to draw him back in. They sat like that awhile, their shoulders almost touching and Thorin’s hand a steady presence against the slight chill of the night air. Finally, Thorin muttered that he might as well get some sleep and that Bilbo should as well, before lumbering off to his own bed roll.

And yet, Bilbo remained awake awhile still, only sleeping after he decided that the pitch black emptiness between the trees of the forest was just that and not something that was watching them back. Even then, his dreams that night were not restful.  
\-----  
The passage through Mirkwood was just as cheerful as the name suggested. The air was still and stuffy, the path was overgrown, and not a single one in the Company could shake the feeling that they were being watched at any given moment. Day and night (not that there was much difference between the two) the Company spent tripping over the roots that had taken over the edges of the way, fumbling and bumping into each other, and always being overly-cautious of any noise that they might make. 

Try as they might, not even the most optimistic of the group could lift their spirits in those days. Soon started the moody snapping and heckling among the families, which quickly spread to the whole group. Bilbo could’ve sworn by hair on his feet that before Mirkwood he knew every petty barb and slightly-too-cruel jab the dwarves had in their arsenal, but that apparently wasn’t the case. Even though most of the general snippiness seemed to bypass Bilbo, the tension surrounding Bilbo was enough for him to pull his shoulders to his ears and keep to the back of the group and mostly to himself. And as they trudged on, their packs only became lighter as their moods sunk further and further.

Regardless of how much Bilbo tried to distance himself out of fear of being snapped at, Thorin seemed to be actively seeking him out of all things. A majority of the days Bilbo spent tracing Thorin’s footsteps (as his vision in the dark was abysmal compared to the dwarves) and rarely making in idle observation about something around them.

However the nights were where the Company talked to each other, provided they were not too tired to just sit in the dark, unable to even lay down their bedrolls. These were the times when Bilbo learned of the brothers Ri’s lineage, of the toys Bifur and Bofur were so enthusiastic about, of the herb garden that Óin had kept in Ered Luin, and many other things. These conversations were where Bilbo learned that Thorin, not Dwalin, was supposed to have arrived first at his smial first all of those months ago, but had gotten so lost that he had ended up late.

That last bit Bilbo would remember especially well, if not because of the betrayed look Thorin had thrown Dwalin for telling, then because it was the only time he remembered laughing in that Eru-forsaken place.

These were the nights where Thorin pitched in stories about the halls of Erebor, sometimes of how he would keep his younger brother in line when he was small, sometimes tales sounded straight out of tomes of history. Bilbo usually could not see Thorin’s eyes for lack of light when this happened, but he was sure that if he could they would be distant and bright.

It was during these nights that contact between Bilbo and Thorin became more and more frequent, commonplace even. What started as shoulders nudging and knees resting against each other slowly progressed over the weeks to the two sitting back-to-back to rest and Thorin occasionally laying his head against Bilbo’s shoulder or the top of his head when they were finally able to rest at night. This started to seep into the days when Thorin would take a hold of Bilbo’s hand when the path became particularly tricky or dark.

It was those hands that caught Bilbo as he dropped out of the trees when he was tasked with climbing to the top and having a look around.

While Thorin touched him no less than Bofur or Bifur, who were much freer in their affections, the feel of Thorin’s warmth often made a spark of something swell up in Bilbo that he had not felt for many years. While this unsettled Bilbo (as he had not felt this kind of spark since… since he and Sadoc began courting) and sometimes not being able to see Thorin made him startle more than he cared to admit, he did have to concede that it did feel nice to be touched so casually.

What joy could be found in these woods was quickly forgotten in the panic of Bombur falling into the enchanted river, waking up, and the grind of increasingly hungrier and drearier days.

This was when things truly went sour.

By this time, they had already polished off the last of their rations, despite their efforts to keep at least a morsel around for another week or so. This made the dwarves peeved at anything and everything that moved, and even gentle Balin could be seen brooding darkly and muttering harshly to his brother. Bilbo found him cursing his fate not only for the gnawing in his stomach, but also for his head’s persistent reminders that he was a _hobbit,_ which are both blessed and cursed with metabolisms high enough to require seven meals a day.

One evening, they settled down early, intent on sleeping off whatever aches and pains that they could. Bilbo was laying out his bedroll, absently listening to Ori shuffling next to him, the quiet clink of Thorin’s armor to his right, and the quiet squabbling of Fili and Kili, who had decided to play a short game of dice while there was still some small amount of light that they could see by.

Deciding to risk annoying Thorin, Bilbo quietly asked, “Are you going to join?”

“No,” Thorin answered, settling down next to Bilbo, “I have too much on my mind. Come, sit.”

Bilbo had a half a mind to go see what the two brothers were getting themselves into, but sat down and watched as the rest of the Company drifted over to where Fili and Kili were, lowly cheering and groaning as they set up a betting pool of berries and twigs. Not liking the terseness of the silence Thorin was giving him, Bilbo finally spoke up.

“What _is_ on your mind?”

A huge sigh left Thorin and he leaned to rest his temple against Bilbo’s shoulder. From there he muttered, “Lake Town, at the moment. But also the issue of the dragon has not escaped me.”

“Well, a dragon is quite hard to forget. Why Lake Town?”

“The dragon destroyed Dale, killed their ancestors, and it was brought upon by my grandfather’s greed. I am… unsure of our reception there,” Thorin admitted, his brows drawn together.

“You think that they will hold grudges?”

“I anticipate it. There will be animosity, perhaps even blatant treachery.” Something about Thorin’s suspicions struck a chord in Bilbo, and he shifted to get a better look at Thorin, trying to figure out if he should retreat if his next words were received badly.

“I… hobbits do not hold many grudges, and if they do you might find them petty. But I don’t… I don’t think that they would be as malicious as to _sabotage_ you.” Thorin shifted against Bilbo and the hobbit’s eyes darted down to the frayed edge of his bedroll.

“You chose to see the best in them.”

Thorin’s rumble made him frown, he felt as if he had had this argument before with someone. “No, I just don’t assume the worst.”

“It’s precaution.” This made Bilbo’s frown deeper, the familiarity of the tone, but in a different voice was uncanny.

“Be that as it may,” the hobbit muttered, “assuming treachery without evidence is not wise.”

Thorin sat back, and Bilbo shouldered the dwarf’s frustrated gaze with relative grace, despite the shaking in his hands. The Company was not paying attention to the two of them, it would be so easy for Thorin to reach out and—

Despite his fear, Thorin’s unfounded bad attitude about the people of Lake Town irritated him. It was just so… Sadoc-ish. It was no wonder that he felt like he had had this conversation before.

“They cannot be trusted,” Thorin intoned, “They have a perfectly legitimate reason to want revenge on Durin’s folk.”

“Thorin,” Bilbo said quietly, not liking where this conversation was headed, “You cannot speak for them. They could very well—”

“You cannot speak for them either.”

Frowning at Thorin’s interruption, Bilbo continued, “Yes but they could just as likely be fair folk.”

“They _could_ be. That does not mean we should trust them.”

“You don’t need to trust them. You just need to be honest with them.”

“And endanger our cause? Our lives?”

“There is no proof that they will be malicious.”

“When is there ever? ‘Tis better to not trust them.”

Bilbo was becoming irritated with Thorin and snapped, “Even when we’ll need their help to get to the mountain? That’s not practical.”

“We can do without,” Thorin growled, “They are too suspicious.”

“How can you say such things?” Bilbo felt his frustration peaking, “I swear, you’re looking for an excuse not to like them, Sadoc!”

All it took was Thorin’s confused scowl for Bilbo to realize just what he had said, and all of the air around Bilbo seemed to disappear. “Bilbo…” Thorin reached for Bilbo’s arm, and the hobbit froze. ‘Oh God this is where it starts,’ his thoughts sounded, ‘I thought it would be different I don’t want this I just can’t—‘

However Thorin stopped and beheld Bilbo’s face for awhile before lowering his arm. Into the silence Nori cackled and Glóin cheered distantly. “I—” Bilbo started, not liking the look on Thorin’s face one bit, “I’m sorry, that…” However Bilbo’s mouth failed him and they fell into uncomfortable silence once again.

Finally, Thorin growled loud enough for the whole Company to hear, “Sleep, it will do us good to rest our minds.” Looking away quickly, Bilbo laid down and curled away from Thorin. After the shuffling of the other dwarves getting into place died down, the too-shallow-to-be-sleeping breath of Thorin was there for as long as Bilbo was awake, which was quite some time.

However, Bilbo did not have more than a few hours to think about the incident. The next day all hell broke loose, and Bilbo found himself facing a bunch of spiders as big as Farmer Maggot’s biggest carts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh GOODNESS that chapter nearly wrote itself! I actually had this chapter planned out for some time so it felt good to get it down in writing and get it posted. I hope that you lovelies enjoy!
> 
> As usual, any comments, critique, or questions are accepted AND strongly encouraged! Happy Tuesday!


	13. Sneak (It'd be silly for a burglar not to)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basically everything is spiders and everything sucks.
> 
> EDIT: 13 down, 7+ more to go!

The day started quiet. From the time that Bilbo was shaken awake to when the Company set out for another day of trudging along, not a word was spoken by anyone. Thorin seemed to take a sudden interest in leading the Company along the trail, only looking back to Bilbo occasionally with an unreadable expression on his face. Bilbo meanwhile found himself appreciating the back of the procession and the quiet it offered.

It was late afternoon when a banquet was spotted in the distance through the trees and the day went from silent to abuzz with frenzied mutterings of approaching the light. Bilbo wouldn’t lie and say that he had not been fairly desperate to reach the food that could possibly lay behind the line of trees, but to plunge headfirst into such the forest seemed like the worst possible choice in this situation.

Despite his protests, the Company crept closer to the festivities (Bilbo following only because he would rather be lost than alone in this forest) to see that in the clearing were many fair elves, feasting and singing. Without warning, a few of the more rash dwarves sprinted towards the gaps in the trees, yelling about being lost and hungry and— 

But before they even got close to passing into the clearing, the light was snuffed out and in the dark they scrambled and cried for each other and they became miserably lost.

By the time that they had regrouped, it was pitch black and they couldn’t even see each other, much less the path where they had come from. They were all exhausted and despairingly set up camp right where they stood, deciding that the clearing that they were in might as well be good for something. 

However right as Bilbo was drifting off, one of the dwarves whispered, “Look, over there. More lights!”

Bilbo hauled himself up and glanced around, and over a rise to his right, through the gnarled branches and dense undergrowth, he was able to make out yellow and red lanterns. Already almost half of the Company had begun ambling towards them and the other half were certainly gearing up to follow. Ignoring the aching in his limbs and the bad feeling in his gut, Bilbo scrambled up and trotted after the Company reluctantly.

As before, the Company got only so close when the light was snuffed out with a disturbing finality.

This time when the clearing was thrown into darkness, the resulting confusion lasted much longer. To Bilbo’s horror, the voices of his friends were not dying off because they were all finding each other, but they were getting further away from him. Ice gripping his stomach, Bilbo crashed recklessly through the forest, trying to pinpoint where his friends were but whatever was taking them was faster and before Bilbo could find them, their voices died out.

And then Bilbo was alone _and_ lost.  
\----  
If Bilbo were to ever see a spider again, he would no longer be able to let it go un-squished. Call it cruel but frankly, fighting the ungodly giant cousin of an animal somehow ruins its reputation for any other instance.

The instant that Bilbo had stumbled across the spiders discussing the fates of his friends, Bilbo had slipped in his Ring. The comfort that the band provided him was meager, but it also filled him with a strange, almost fool-hardy confidence and a bitter hate for the creatures speaking about his friends as if they were objects. 

And so Bilbo drew off the spiders, singing awful rhymes and trying not to think about just how _big_ the damned things were. By the time that Bilbo had doubled back and began cutting his friends down from where they hung, he was feeling slightly proud of himself, like there was a chance that they might be able to make it out of this.

This pride, however, evaporated when the spiders easily re-swarmed the dwarves, most of which were still fighting the effect of the spiders’ bites. Had it not been for the sudden appearance of a small troop of wood elves, the Company most certainly would have met a very gruesome end.

Bilbo knew the rest of the Company was weak and exhausted from the spiders’ poison, but when the whole lot went and got themselves captured by the elves without as much as a complaint, Bilbo wanted to scream in frustration. However, Bilbo held his tongue and did the only thing he could, he followed them for what seemed like miles, picking his way through rough underbrush and over roots and under branches, trying his hardest not to make a sound (and doing quite a bang-up job of it too, given how many times the guards along the procession kept glancing back in his direction). By the time that they reached the castle of the woodland realm, Bilbo was so high-strung that he was almost ready to shuck off his ring and join the rest of his friends just to end the suspense.

With a creak of age-old wood, the gates to the castle opened and let the line of elves and prisoners into a vast cavern that seemed only marginally brighter than the surrounding forest, but nonetheless gorgeous. Had Bilbo not been hiding for his life, he would have taken time to marvel at the worn, wooden walkways, the high arches of the throne room, and the way that the light in the halls struck all of the lovely carvings, but for now he was more preoccupied with finding out just where his friends were being taken.

It was only after they had been locked away, one by one, that Bilbo realized that there were only twelve cells with dwarves in them, and Thorin was nowhere to be found.  
\-----  
Bilbo had been wandering these halls for what seemed like forever. Once he had been able to ensure both himself and the Company that they were all relatively whole and healthy, he had decided that he had to get them out of this prison, and the best way to do that was to explore the layout of the castle and, more importantly, not get caught.

While this was all very nice and fine in concept, Bilbo was starting to envy the dwarves in captivity. Wearing the ring constantly, Bilbo found, seemed to weigh heavily on his mind and turn his thoughts towards darker topics, but he had so little time to take it off. The places and times that he could sleep without fear of being caught were few and far in between and when he did manage to drift off, he awoke at even the slightest sound.

Then, as always, there was the matter of food. If he was completely honest, the only thing keeping him from begging for scraps from his friends was the fact that he knew that they needed the morale boost more than he did.

On top of it all, Thorin was still nowhere to be found. As Bilbo made his way deeper and deeper into the depths of the castle, he could not find a single trace of their leader. 

There was one day, perhaps a week after their arrival, when Bilbo had been trying to navigate the tunnels below the castle, he was struck by the thought that Thorin could very well be dead. The though sent a shock through him, and he had to curl into the closest safe corner and take the deepest breaths that he could to quell the panic the thought inspired. After ten or so minutes had passed, Bilbo had hoisted himself up, and continued on.

That night he made his way back to his friends to give them update, and his sorrow was apparently visible enough that every dwarf that he visited reached through the bars of their cells to clasp his shoulder or hug them to the best of their ability and encourage him in their own ways.

Bilbo decided that for the sake of the others, he should not come to any conclusion concerning Thorin before he found any evidence.

However the thought buzzed around in his mind constantly and kept him awake almost as much as his own paranoia. Guilt hounded him and Bilbo realized that he could very well have left Thorin in the clearing with the spiders by accident or perhaps been too late to save him or maybe he was still wandering through the forest alone or killed on sight by the elves or— 

Needless to say this line of thinking did nothing to help Bilbo’s slowly-fraying nerves.

Three weeks after their capture, Bilbo had been stealing a meager meal from the kitchens and heard two guards outside the door grumbling about one prisoner deeper in the tunnel system than the other dwarves. One that was arrogant and sullen, but seemed to be quieting down quickly as time went on. With his heart in his throat, Bilbo trailed the two guards right to Thorin’s cell, which Bilbo certainly could not have found on his own since it was so much deeper in the winding catacombs than the rest.

Bilbo was barely able to contain his joy until the guards left after giving Thorin his daily meal. Making sure that no one was coming their way, Bilbo slipped off the ring and took a breath of seemingly sweeter air.

Softly, Bilbo crept to the door and peered through the thick bars and the low light to see Thorin, lying on his side facing away from the door with the meal that the guards left untouched. From where Bilbo stood, it was obvious that Thorin’s braids had been undone and his clothing was old, stained, and not his own.

“Thorin,” Bilbo whispered through the bars. To his dismay, Thorin did not move and Bilbo whispered louder, “ _Thorin_ , it’s me.” There wasn’t even a twitch from the body across the cell. “Oh for _Eru’s sake, Thorin—_ ”

“Be gone,” Thorin groaned, seeming to curl in on himself, “I am weary of you.” A growl almost broke out of Bilbo at that. Was Thorin really going to be spiteful over their dispute before they had been captured at a time like this?

“Thorin, please just—”

“I shall do nothing you ask,” Thorin muttered, interrupting the burglar, “Illusions should ask no favors, especially if they are of the dead.” Bilbo felt a near-hysterical laugh build up in his chest at the admittance and his already thread-thin patience snapped.

“Thorin Oakenshield,” Bilbo whispered harshly against the lump in his throat, gripping the bars of the cell until his knuckles whitened, “I have been lost in these halls for _weeks_ and quite alive, thank you for asking, along with our friends. Now the least you could do for me is to turn and see that I am here, you— you— daft, daft dwarf!”

For a moment, Bilbo thought that he had pushed too far, until the body across the room rolled to face him. Squinting into the low light, Thorin studied Bilbo, who kept his face as stern as he could. Finally Thorin’s face crumpled into a hopeful smile that was really _no fair._

“Burglar,” Thorin said slowly, but then sprang up and rushed to the door with a soft cry, “Bilbo!” Hands reached through the bars to cup Bilbo’s face and the hobbit let you a thin, shuddering sigh of relief. Thorin looked down and pressed his forehead to the bars, his breath barely hitching.

Bilbo sat back a moment, bemused and overjoyed in equal measure, before leaning in and pressing his forehead to about where Thorin had set his own. The broad, calloused palms on his jaw, the blunt fingers on his temples, the smallest brush of their foreheads against each other, and the soft puffs of Thorin’s breath across his chin all filled Bilbo with a warmth that he could feel sink into his bones. For this short moment, Bilbo felt some of the tension on his back slide off like an old coat, and he felt farther away from a panic attack than he had since they entered Mirkwood in the first place.

Finally into the space between them Thorin murmured, “I thought you dead, I thought you all dead. I thought that I’d… What of the others? What news?”

Bilbo whispered back, “We’re alive, all of us are alive. There was a nasty incident with these— these huge spiders right after the feast we stumbled upon and most were bitten, but they recovered quickly.” Bilbo swallowed before continuing, “However we were captured by elves right after that, all except me that is. And you will be pleased to know that the rest of the Company are intent on annoying Thranduil at every turn.”

The two of them shared a chuckle at that. “Good,” Thorin murmured, “I wouldn’t expect any less.”

The lull in their conversation that followed was not so much a silence, but more of a rest. Finally Bilbo drew back, suddenly conscious of how intimate the gesture of touching foreheads had seemed among the rest of the Company. “I— I can pass messages to the others, if you have any. Also I’ve been looking for a way out…” Thorin opened his eyes and looked into Bilbo’s face with a quiet intensity.

“I’m sure my nephews will be glad to hear from me.” Thorin muttered, and just like that, the spell between them was broken in favor of more serious matters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JFC readers what a couple of months. I know it's been a bit of a wait since my last update, but things sort of went haywire on my end.
> 
> ANYWAYS, here's the new chapter! I'm not really sure if I like it or not, but I've definitely had a lot of this material in mind for a few months. I'm thinking next chapter is going to focus mainly on a dialog I'm REALLY excited to write between Bilbo and Thorin, so get ready for that!
> 
> As you can see, I'm definitely going 100% book-verse so if anyone is having a hard time with the context, drop me a line!
> 
> As always, comments are encouraged, loved, and showered in affection, so if you want to point out something, or even just say "hi!" feel free to do so!


	14. Lift (Do you even?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo and Thorin have The Talk. It goes about as well as you would expect.
> 
> EDIT: Now updated. Sorry this is taking so long guys!! I'll try my best!!!

If Bilbo was tired when he first found Thorin in the tunnels under Mirkwood’s castle, by now he was completely exhausted. Another three weeks had passed since then, and Bilbo had been able to confirm in a shined platter in the kitchen that the bags underneath his eyes looked almost as bad as the stress aches he felt along his back and deep in his legs. 

The Company had all seen how their burglar fared and had tried multiple times to get Bilbo just to _rest_ for Mahal’s sake, but in response Bilbo would insist that he was fine and that more importantly, they had to get out soon in order to make it to the mountain in time.

When that didn’t work with quelling his friends’ fears, Bilbo would just smile and promise to try to get some sleep just as soon as he relayed the next message he had been charged with. And to his credit, Bilbo did try to sleep whenever he promised to. It just didn’t always work out.

It was during one of these ’one more message to pass and then I’ll sleep, I promise you Bofur’ trips down to Thorin’s cell that things changed for the good between them.

The day had been particularly bad; increased foot traffic near the kitchen due to the upcoming autumn festivities had made it impossible for Bilbo to sneak any food for himself out of the kitchen for the past two days and a record number of elves had almost tripped over him recently. On top of that, the Ri brothers (placed at opposite ends of the line of cells) had found it necessary to bicker through Bilbo for a good hour or so until Dwalin had growled menacingly from his cell at Bilbo to stop enabling their petty squabbling.

Nodding mutely, Bilbo made his way back to Dori, quietly explaining that Dwalin was preventing him from telling Nori just what Dori thought of Nori’s less-than-respectable career for the eighth time. Dori had just huffed and Bilbo staggered towards Balin’s cell to receive his next message, but not before Bofur was able to squeeze another promise to get some sleep out of him. 

After, Bilbo gingerly made his way to Thorin’s cell to relay Balin’s latest speculations about when, how, and if they could strike a deal with Thranduil in order to get out, to which Thorin grumbled but nodded in consent. Bilbo sighed deeply and got ready to listen to the next message he should carry up to the rest, already dreading the long walk through the winding corridors.

“Burglar,” Thorin started, cutting through Bilbo’s thoughts, but then paused for a great while. “You need to rest.”

Bilbo blinked, and his heart stuttered in his chest. “I— I’m fine! I just need to get this next message passed up to Balin and then I’ll— I’ll catch some sleep.”

“You promised Bofur that for _this_ message, didn’t you?” At Bilbo’s blushing face, Thorin chuckled. “Come, sit with me. The guards should not be around for a good while.”

Thorin lowered himself down to sit and rest his back against the bars and after some trepidation, Bilbo mirrored the motion, savoring the small bit body heat that he could feel through the bars.

After a long while in silence, Thorin spoke, “Staying hidden from an enemy while in their very castle is difficult to begin with, and to do so for such a long time… it takes skill. I never would have assumed that would be so talented of a burglar when we met.”

Bilbo was slightly taken aback by quiet confession, before chuckling to himself. “It’s just luck. And I’m sure I didn’t make the best of first impressions.”

“It _was_ fairly concerning to find you literally eaten out of house and home.”

They shared a quiet laugh, and Bilbo suddenly remembered the scene with startling clarity; the cool autumn air, the soil beneath his curling toes, the ache in his chest that usually followed such an episode, and the phrase that Thorin had repeated to him over and over at the time.

_“...you’re in the Shire, outside of what I’m assuming is your house. It is roughly nine o’clock in the evening. Your name is probably Bilbo Boggins and you’re in the Shire, outside of what I’m assuming is your house…”_

Strange as it may be, the odd mantra had been able to help Bilbo pull back from one of the worst attacks he’d had in ages.

“What was that?” Bilbo murmured, the question falling from his mouth unbidden. Behind him he could feel Thorin shift, possibly to look at him. Bilbo hunched in on himself and elaborated, “Outside of my smial, you kept on repeating my name, the place, and the time.” Bilbo was not even certain that Thorin would recall the encounter.

“Ah.” So Thorin did remember. “After the Battle of Azanulbizar, there was strife among our ranks. Some took the battle harder than others and would occasionally slip back into their memories. We found the best way to… ground these warriors were with reminders of the present.”

Bilbo chuckled weakly, “You used something you learned with soldiers on a gentlehobbit.”

Bilbo didn’t need to turn to know that Thorin was shooting him a raised eyebrow. “It worked, didn’t it?” To this, Bilbo hummed in agreement.

Thorin paused for a while before asking, “…What was your battle?”

“Excuse me?”

“What did you need grounding from?

“Outside of my smial? Oh, um, I’ve always been a bit nervous so—”

“Bilbo, that’s not it, is it.” The hobbit swallowed nervously at the accusation.

“It’s nothing as grand as a—”

“Nothing was grand about that battle,” Thorin deadpanned. “You’ve heard my story. Let me hear yours.”

Part of Bilbo really did _not_ want to have this conversation, ever. On the other hand… While he would hate to see Thorin’s opinion of him fall, perhaps letting Thorin know would be fair to both him and Bilbo.

At a later date, Bilbo would wonder why he decided to speak truthfully at this junction. Perhaps it was the fatigue, perhaps it was the hunger in Bilbo’s stomach or his homesickness or his loneliness. But more likely, it was due to Thorin being the first person who had asked him what was wrong without hiding it behind pointed stares or hinting questions. 

“Please.” Thorin’s request is what broke him, and Bilbo relented.

“I… I really have been fairly nervous for most of my life, but it got out of hand when I was 40 or so. That was when I met Sadoc. He— he was the one that we talked about earlier.”

“The one who left you?”

“Yes... yes, that was him.”

Thorin hummed and the two fell into a natural silence, both lost in their own thoughts. Bilbo’s were confused for the most part. He had been quiet about what Sadoc had done to him for years, and one off-handed remark later, the pressure to spill everything seemed to come out of nowhere and settle just behind his heart, trying to squeeze out every story of Sadoc that Bilbo had. 

“I’ve heard,” Thorin said slowly, “that talking about your troubles helps.” Here, Bilbo turned to glance at Thorin, who was resolutely turned away. 

“I… I wouldn’t want… Doesn’t it seem a bit— a bit pointless now? Also it’s a bit of a long story.” To this, Thorin shook his head.

“It’s been weighing on your mind for a while. Having our burglar distracted right now would not be wise.”

Bilbo sighed, Thorin did have a point. So with the pressure behind his eyes growing, Bilbo settled in for a long conversation.

“Sadoc and I, we courted for four years. And it was— I was happy. But after I moved into his smial, about a year in, it was like I became someone else to him. He just… I guess he lost his patience. Suddenly, we had to be with each other constantly and— and neither of us could deal, so I— I withdrew. It was better to keep to myself, for the sake of what we had.

“But, in the end, Sadoc found someone else. After that, people became… difficult. So I just got used to being quiet. Most people take it as a sign of stability, you know, being quiet.” Bilbo snorted, “That doesn’t seem to really be the case with you and your lot though.”

Thorin was silent, until he spoke slowly, “…he hurt you.”

Bilbo inhaled sharply, but decided to just _admit it_. “Yes, he hurt me.”

“How?”

“No—Nothing huge! Just small bumps and—and it wasn’t like it was without reason.”

“But it wasn’t ‘small,’ was it?”

“What—”

“Your injuries at the Carrock were extensive, but you did not complain. No one brushes off bruises like that without practice.”

Bilbo didn’t say anything to that, deciding to let the question of when exactly Thorin had seen that bruising go. Finally, Bilbo nodded, more to himself that anyone else.

“Tell me about him.”

“…why?”

“Talking helps. Tell me about him.”

Well, what could it hurt? “He was… he was tall, and very strong. He was a farmhand so he spent most of the warmer months outside and always smelled like the earth. I thought he was charming, and very intense. But he— he always saw the worst in everything... and everyone.”

At this, Thorin hesitantly spoke. “That mindset can be helpful in some places.”

Annoyance shot through Bilbo. “Does ‘some places’ include the Shire?”

“No, I suppose they don’t.”

“Mhmm.”

“…what faults did he see in you?”

“…”

“I understand if that is something you’d rather not speak of.”

“No! No, it’s fine, it’s all fine. It’s just been a long time since I’ve thought of it. I was— am… I was too willful. I’d never listen and always challenge him no matter the topic. He would often say that I was too sensitive, that I would take things too personally.” Bilbo mumbled dryly, “Also I wasn’t a good enough cook.”

Thoirn chuckled at that, to which Bilbo threw a sharp look and continued, “Among hobbits, food is very important, it’s a way of expressing skill, emotion, and hospitality. I guess you might not find it too compelling, but that was always an issue between the two of us.”

There was a sound of clothes shifting against the stone of the floor. “Bilbo…” Thorin’s intense tone made Bilbo twist to look back into Thorin’s cell. Thorin was looking Bilbo straight in the face, with a serious look leveled at the hobbit.

“The soup I had at your smial was wonderful.” A laugh startled its way out of Bilbo.

“You realize that by the time you got there all the food I had made was gone, right? I’m not certain who exactly made that…”

Despite the joking nature of Bilbo’s exclamation, Thorin’s eyes remained fixed on Bilbo’s face and his expression severe. “Once we reach Erebor you can cook me a proper meal. I am confident it will be delicious.”

Bilbo blushed right to the tip of his ears. For Thorin to say something so directly— No. Thorin was being friendly. Around the lump in his throat, Bilbo replied, “I’ll make sure to do that.” A half-smile broke upon Thorin’s lips and Bilbo silently mused that it almost appeared to glow in the darkness around them.

Just as quickly as it appeared on his lips however, the smile dropped and Thorin was now looking at Bilbo questioningly, but said nothing.

Finally, Bilbo asked, “Is there something you wanted to ask me?”

Thorin nodded slowly, “There are a few questions I have, yes.”

Bilbo turned to face the dwarf fully, “Well, you might as well. You already know more about Sadoc and me than… well than anyone really.”

Thorin looked puzzled, “You… Bilbo, you’ve barely told me anything. Have you told no one else?”

“Well,” Bilbo thought for a few seconds, but eventually answered, “My mother, but she never knew about the hitting—” A growl cut Bilbo short, and he saw that Thorin took on a much more thunderous look. “You mean to tell me that his crimes were never heard of? Was he not punished?” Thorin’s words were harsh and Bilbo felt something inside of his chest curl up incredibly tightly.

“Crime…?” Bilbo echoed softly.

“Yes!” Thorin reached up to grip the bars of the cell, but when Bilbo flinched away from the movement, he settled his hands back into his lap where he glared at them venomously. “You said earlier that he found someone else.” Thorin growled, softer this time.

Swallowing his fear of another outburst, Bilbo started, “Yes, his wife and fauntlings—” This time it was a snarl that cut Bilbo off. “He hurt you and now— now he has—” Thorin seemed to go speechless with anger, clenching his fists in his lap and Bilbo was suddenly the tiniest bit grateful for the bars between them.

“You should have told someone, Bilbo.” Thorin’s low accusation made him flinch. “He hurt you for _years_ ; was there no one that you could have talked to during that time? Friends? Family?” Despite his best efforts, Bilbo felt the embarrassing itch of tears beginning to form in his eyes. However before he could answer, Thorin barreled on, “If you had just talked to _someone_ you could have gotten yourself out! Was there truly no one that would listen to you?”

Around his closing throat, Bilbo choked out, “How could I admit that I _failed?_ ”

“This has nothing to do with—”

“Yes it does, Thorin,” Bilbo snapped, and he was surprised to find how easily the bitterness flowed off of his tongue. “It has everything to do with me failing.”

He stopped for a moment to harshly rub at his eyes and take a deep breath to steady himself. “I wanted to marry a farmhand below my families’ status. That was already a social slight! If I admitted that I wasn’t a good enough partner…” Bilbo swallowed, “My mother and I would have been shunned.”

“I don’t understand! Your family’s reputation wasn’t worth it!”

“No,” Bilbo whispered, “You don’t understand because _you’re not a hobbit._ Class and status are what the old families are built upon and while it might seem silly to you it was important to my father to upkeep the respectability of the Baggins family. It was important to him when he was alive, and important to my mother after he passed. I couldn’t take that from her.”

“But you were _hurt._ ”

Bilbo sighed, “I know, I just— I know.” For a long while the two sat in the quiet between them, both lost in their own thoughts.

“You didn’t deserve that.” Thorin mumbled into the tension between them, but Bilbo did not raise his head until the next utterance. “I’m sorry for my words. They were— I was not thinking and it came out cruel.”

Not wanting to let the sob built up in his throat out, Bilbo just nodded in acceptance. They stayed like that for a good while, Bilbo trying to breathe around a feeling of deep shame while Thorin kept his eyes trained in his hands, which had returned to his lap.

“Am I— Was I—” After a few false starts, Thorin seemed to get his wits about him and finally murmured, “Thank you for telling me. I’m glad that you trust me with this.”

Something in Bilbo’s chest loosened at the words, and breathing became suddenly easier. He was just about to say something in return when Thorin started again, “If you want there to be some… distance between us now, I would understand.”

Bilbo barely stopped to think before he shook his head vehemently. “I don’t want that.”

Bilbo heard Thorin sigh, and into his line of sight came a hand, broad and warm, and it settled onto his knee. Slowly, Bilbo looked up through his bangs where Thorin reached for him. The open look on the dwarf’s face made him smile slightly. “Good,” Thorin murmured, “I wouldn’t want that either.”

Bilbo nodded and returned his gaze to his lap. After a moment, Bilbo slowly put a hand on top of Thorin’s, who in return twined their fingers together.

The rush of giddy warmth that spread through Bilbo’s stomach had him smiling widely to himself even after he had to let go of Thorin’s hand when they were almost caught by a guard. A sense of lightness settled over him and the few hours of sleep that he caught that night seemed to finally (finally!) be enough for him to feel rested.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooh! I'm really excited for this chapter! It's actually one that I've had planned out from the start and since has undergone a shit-ton of changes, but I'm really happy with how it came out. I know that it might have seemed a bit dull without any action, but I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Um, I guess I'll just say this now because there's no time like the present, but I wanted to let you guys know that I am really grateful for every single one of you that reads this fic. When I started "Brought Low" almost a year ago I didn't think that it would last this long or that I'd get so many positive reactions to it. Truth be told I reread the first chapter over and over again for two weeks before I had the courage to finally post it because I was so nervous. All of the people who read and comment keep me motivated (even if I am pretty shitty on the whole "regular updates" thing...) and I hope that this story somehow helps someone else out there as much as writing it has helped me.
> 
> That's it from me, but as usual, if you have questions, comments, critique, or whatever really, please comment!


	15. Escape (Not quite a daring escape, but close enough)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Company arrive in Lake Town, and surprisingly few things go wrong.
> 
> EDIT: Hot off the word processor, here's the updated version of this chapter!

And Bilbo thought that spiders sucked.

Spiders didn’t make you smuggle thirteen of the loudest creatures in Arda out of a guarded dungeon and down to the cellars of an enemy’s castle. Spiders didn’t whine and moan at you when you offered them a way out of prison and then demand that he just think of a new one like he had not just spent over a month doing exactly that. Spiders didn’t make you cling to a barrel for dear life while rocketing down a turbulent river.

Sure, spiders were terrifying in the immediate sense and for the fact that no eight-legged creature should ever reach those sizes, but spiders didn’t do all of that and then leaving you sopping and freezing and _still clinging to a barrel_ for two straight days.

In short, getting to Lake Town was an unpleasant affair that left the dwarves broody and disagreeable and Bilbo with the worst head cold that he had ever dealt with.

Limbs stiff and bruises painfully evident on their skin, the Company made their way along the broad gravel shore of Long Lake to the bridge into Lake Town. While most of the dwarves were able to maintain some bit of civility with Bilbo, some were short and snappish with him, as if every bump along the river was Bilbo’s personal fault. The hobbit tried not to take it to heart, but the coarse grumbling and dirty looks grated against his nerves and made him want to sink into the ground. It also didn’t help that moving too quickly at the moment left Bilbo feeling weak in the knees and as if his face was about to catch fire, despite his sodden clothes and chill in the evening air.

Near the guards’ hut that sat near the entrance to the bridge into town, Thorin pulled ahead of the group. “Stay back,” he commanded, “It wouldn’t be wise to approach them all at once.”

Despite this, Fili and Kili trotted after their uncle to the small thatched building. After a few beats of silence, the shouting that ensued was enough to hear from where the others stood. As soon as the ruckus started, a few of the guards dashed ahead into town, while two of the stockier ones stayed behind and escorted them across the bridge and through the maze of rickety walkways that made up Lake Town.

Despite his current misery, Bilbo spared a moment to marvel at the precarious city. While almost all hobbits went out of their way to avoid bodies of water when possible, these Men not only made their living off of the lake, but lived on it as well. Bilbo would not deny that being this close to the water made him uneasy but he could not deny the practicality of the city’s location.

Also, he supposed as he slowed to gaze at the water between two walkways, the water did have a certain rippling beauty to it. One might even consider it soothing…

Bilbo was started out of his thoughts be Ori gently nudging him along, as not to slow down the procession.

They were lead to one of the larger buildings near the center of the town that appeared to be packed with people. From inside Bilbo was able to hear the dull rumble of voices and had to resist the part of his brain stuck in the tunnels of Mirkwood that kicked and screamed at the idea of being seen by so many strangers. Hesitating slightly at the entrance, Bilbo had to take a deep breath and remind himself above the pounding in his head that slipping on his ring right now would most definitely be a Bad Idea.

However the second that they entered the hall, Bilbo could feel every voice present die down and gazes swivel their way and the urge to disappear came back twice as strong. Swallowing slightly, Bilbo shuffled in place and started when Bifur edged in closer to the hobbit and muttered something in a reassuring tone. Bilbo turned and smiled to Bifur, who didn’t say anything but instead put a steadying hand on his shoulder.

Before any of the guards could take the opportunity, Thorin introduced himself in a voice that filled up the entire room and seemed to ring through the rafters well after he was done.

“I am Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King Under the Mountain. With my kith and kin, I return!” 

Immediately the hall burst into noise and movement, the intensity of which made Bilbo jump and then buzzed through his skull uncomfortably. After a few minutes, a nasally voice made its way towards the Company, obviously trying very hard to remain composed.

“Excuse me, _excuse me!_ Let me through!”

Out of the rabble of Men bustled a heavy set man with relatively fine (but stained) clothing and a shrewd look on his face. The noise in the hall momentarily quieted and the man introduced himself as the Master of Lake Town before bluntly asking, “The Elves say that you are their King’s prisoners and that you were caught sneaking through their woods, is this true?”

Before Thorin could spit out a retort that was sure to get them all imprisoned again, Fili stepped in and smoothly answered. “The Elvenking did wrongfully detain us and imprison us without cause. However, we were doing nothing but traveling back to our homeland.”

Thorin clapped his nephew on the shoulder and glowed with quiet pride at his nephew’s quick words.

“My sister son does speak the truth,” Thorin affirmed. “Neither lock nor bar may hinder the homecoming spoken of old. Furthermore, this is not a town of Mirkwood’s realm, and I speak to the Master of the town of the Men of the Lake and not to the raft-men of the Elvenking.”

At this the Master hesitated, glancing off to the side before furrowing his eyebrows. In the quiet a swell of voices outside slipped into the stuffy hall air and from them were heard snippets of a song.

_“…silver fountains…. Shall echo golden to songs… Streams shall run in gladness…”_

All eyes turned to the Master, who was still obviously attempting to keep a tight grip on his excitement. Finally the man sighed before turning and loudly proclaiming to the surrounding crowd, “The King of Carven Stone returns! And the halls of Lake Town will welcome him!”

The resulting roar was enough to rock even Óin back onto his heels and Bilbo felt the pounding in his head pick up pace.

As the Company were lead to sit at the high table of the hall, no one noticed three elves slipping through the kitchen and out to the docks to make their way up the Forest River and to deliver news to their King.

The Company’s feasting was cut short however, when their Burglar passed out face-first into his meal (much to the panic of all present and the later embarrassment of said Burglar).  
\-----  
Bilbo was miserable. Not only had he passed out in front of a few hundred people, his nose was running, his ears were blocked, and his stomach was in the middle of a full-scale mutiny.

To add insult to injury, it appeared that the only person in the Company who was familiar with a common cold was Óin, while the rest were convinced that Bilbo was in his deathbed. Once Bilbo had come to, Óin had had to bodily hustle the more melodramatic of the dwarves out of the room in order to hear Bilbo explain how he felt like a pony’s backside. Although by some unspoken agreement, Thorin was allowed up stay, perched in the corner.

“Exhaustion is what’s laying you so low, Master Baggins.” the dwarf patiently explained, “You’ve not slept for weeks nor eaten properly for even longer. And I’m sure that dip in the river did you no more good than the rest of us.”

A groan left Bilbo’s mouth, “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Thorin piped up, “It’s that ‘dip in the river’ that got us out.”

“You’re not subbosed to see da bright side of dis,” Bilbo grumped, to which Thorin chuckled lowly. Bilbo’s response however, was cut off by a round of violent shivering. 

Óin shook his head, smiling, and deftly started packing up the supplies that a local doctor had lent to him. “Lots of rest and even more fluids will be best for you, lad. I don’t think you should leave that bed for a couple of days. That fever of yours will most likely clear up soon though, so we don’t have to worry about keepin’ you alone.”

With that, Óin left the two, but not before pausing on his way out and asking, “Should I tell the others downstairs you’re not dying or let them worry themselves sick?”

It took a few moments for Bilbo to understand what Óin meant and softly said, “First one, please.” If there was any hope for rest it would not be with a crowded room, especially with the sheer amount of fussing that Dori, Fili, and Balin had were capable of.

Óin however, stayed where he was for a few more moments before grumbling, “Must’ve fallen asleep already…” and shutting the door behind him.

“He’s been hard of hearing since I’ve known him,” Thorin said, hauling himself up from the stool he had occupied and then sitting down on the edge of the bed. 

Bilbo hummed before closing his eyes against the candlelight.

“Thag you bery much,” Bilbo mumbled sleepily, “for gedding me a bed.”

Thorin grunted in acknowledgement before quietly pointing out, “You could have asked us for a place to sleep if you weren’t feeling well.”

“Didn’t know it was dat bad,” Bilbo confessed, preparing for whatever scolding Thorin was gearing up for.

Instead of that, Thorin sighed, and the slump in his shoulders became suddenly quite prominent. Without warming, Thorin closed his eyes flopped down onto his side next to Bilbo, and turned to face the hobbit.

Bilbo started, “Thorin! You’ll get sick.”

“You heard Óin,” Thorin said, “You shouldn’t be contagious.” Whatever protest Bilbo might have voiced died in his throat when Thorin cracked an eye open and murmured, “If you don’t want me here I would understand.”

Bilbo paused and thought of the warmth of Thorin’s hands on his face and how good the tangle of their fingers felt. Bilbo thought of the snappish rage that Thorin was prone to and the lack of bars between them. “…you can sday.”

Thorin let out a breath and smiled slightly and closed his eyes beforebefore saying, “Fili and Kili are going to constantly be pestering you if Óin has you on bedrest.”

Bilbo chuckled, “Dey’ll be too wrabbed up in the fanfare to keeb me combany.”

“I doubt that, they like you too much.” Thorin huffed, “…if you want me to ask them to leave you alone, I can.”

Bilbo turned his head more towards the dwarf, who kept his eyes resolutely shut. Bilbo furrowed his brow as he thought. While he didn’t want to refuse Thorin and risk his ire, it didn’t feel right to give Thorin that much sway over who he did and didn’t see. The thought was deeply unsettling.

Cautiously, Bilbo ventured, “I… dink I can take care ob dat.” Thorin nodded which made Bilbo let out a breath in relief and released a pressure he didn’t know had built up in his chest.

The two stayed in silence for a while, their breaths mingling between their faces and knees occasionally bumping into each other. Almost absently, Bilbo carefully traced Thorin’s relaxed expression, wanting to squirrel it away in his mind but also being too tired to put in the effort. In the warm haze, Bilbo felt his thoughts slowing and his eyelids closing.

“I’m going to ball asleeb soon,” Bilbo murmured into the air between them.

Thorin nodded, but then let out a huge sigh and heaved himself up. “Sleep well,” he said as he made his way to the door, but not before blowing out the candles that had been bothering Bilbo’s head so.

In the resulting darkness, Bilbo finally, after weeks and weeks, fell asleep with his mind mercifully blank.  
\----   
The King of Mirkwood was troubled.

Three raft-elves had returned from Lake Town with news of their missing prisoners, plus one hobbit. Peering from his quarters out across the twilight of his realm, Thranduil felt vexation churn in his chest. He had protected and fortified his palace a millennium before Erebor was even a though in Thráin I’s head, and yet it was probably a _Halfling_ of all things that had managed to slip past those efforts and whisk away his most valuable prisoners.

Thranduil had already made sure that the chief guard had been suitably punished the moment after he was informed of the escape (a judgment only made harsher by the hangover from the autumn festivities provided) but the whole incident nagged at him.

If Thorin II was back in the East, then the only possible place that he would go would be Erebor. And Ilúvatar be with them if the fool followed through with his people’s claims that they would eventually try to reclaim their mountain.

His hope was that the Men of Lake Town would see reason and stop the mad hat attempt, but as was their nature, they would not see past the promises of treasure that their seers and stories offered.

Thranduil knew that if the dwarves would try to reclaim Erebor, they would awaken the fire drake.

Never again would Thranduil suffer seeing his home burn and his people die for no cause but his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello readers and thanks for doin' your thing! As usual, comments, questions, and critique are the highlights of my day and I hope to hear them!
> 
> I'm still working on a few side pieces for the world building series (which can also be found underneath my works) so I'm going to try to update that a few times before the next chapter of Brought Low. PLEASE NOTE that I am still taking suggestions for these side stories!
> 
> Have a fabulous day!


	16. Rest (Thank Eru, finally)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lake Town shenanigans.
> 
> Edit (12/17/16): Hey dudes. I finally caught a break at work so I can get back to writing! So here's chapter 16. Enjoy! (Also you guys have no idea how bad I wanted to slip a "please step on me" joke when talking about Dis.)

True to Thorin’s word, Fili and Kili took Bilbo’s time abed to constantly toe the line between pestering him and keeping him company. Between the two of them, Bilbo was informed of every painstaking detail about their antics around the Town, the meetings that their uncle had dragged them to, the supplies to last them their trip up the mountain that they had requested, and even the most mundane strangers that they had med that day.

While Bilbo did enjoy their energy, he found that after an hour or so his only way out was to hint at the fact that he was feeling tired. Whereas Kili would grin and start, “Just one more story, Bilbo!” as he had said several times before, Fili would smile and nod before dragging his complaining brother out of the room.

Aside from those two, every dwarf seemed to take time to pop into Bilbo’s room, offering their well-wishes, off-handed updates on the state of the other Company members, or (in the case of Ori and Bifur) quiet companionship. Thorin stopped in from time to time, quietly asking how he was doing, if there was anything that he could do, and recounting some of his meetings with the Master, but seemed to be quite busy.

All in all, while the rest was certainly appreciated, the second that Óin deemed his bed rest over, Bilbo was up and about. After the weeks underground, Bilbo was anxious to get out into the sun and feel a breeze that didn’t smell of mildew and dust.

Despite this, when Bilbo crept down the stairs intent on taking a morning walk and finally got a look at the crowd camping outside of the house that the Company had been set up in, he felt his stomach give a mutinous twist.

Dori, who was in the first floor common room patching his brothers’ clothes, joked that while he was used to crowds outside his door, it had never been quite like this. When Bilbo turned to smile and nod at the dwarf, Dori paused his stitching. Quickly he looked down at Ori’s tunic before nodding to himself and standing up.

“I’m going to need to go into town for more of that thread,” Dori muttered as he strode towards the doorway. Hefting open the slab of pine, he turned to Bilbo. “Do you wish to accompany me?”

Bilbo blinked, not quite knowing how to take Dori’s actions. Biting down any indignation at the thought that Dori might fancy himself a chaperone of sorts, Bilbo followed the dwarf outside into the crisp autumn air. The crowd parted around the two easily enough, but the murmuring certainly increased and set Bilbo on edge.

Bilbo felt his shoulders creep up to the tips of his ears as he felt several dozen eyes fall upon him. Dori seemed unaffected and was chattering about the tailor whose shop he needed to stop by as they made it through the throng without incident.

As they picked their way across the town, Bilbo found himself relaxing more and occasionally commenting on Dori’s bemoaning the lack of a decent tea shop in Lake Town. Being outside and moving about was already doing him good; each breath of air tasted sweeter than the last and he could feel the muscles in his legs stretching properly for the first time in months. The farther they walked, Bilbo paid less and less attention to the obvious side-glances that every passerby threw their way.

By the time they reached the tailor’s, Bilbo was chuckling to Dori’s complaints of how other members of the Company didn’t appreciate the smaller delights in life. “They simply do not understand,” he grumped good-naturedly, “But what am I to expect of a group that can’t tell knitting from crochet?”

“You know, Bofur called a few of my doilies hand towels, back in my smial,” Bilbo offered quietly.

Dori huffed out a laugh and muttered, “Unbelievable.”

After picking up Dori’s thread, they decided to keep walking, agreeing that they had both spent enough time cooped up underground to make them appreciate the sun.

However, Bilbo started to notice something odd during their wandering. While many of the people that they stopped to talk to were unfailingly polite and willing to answer their questions, not one of them seemed to know what to make of Bilbo. Regardless of where they stopped and who they talked to, the Men would openly stare and then pass over him once they had gotten their fill. Bilbo found his stomach sink lower and lower at the unasked question that seemed to hang in the air no matter where they went.

_‘What is this strange creature and why is it here?’_

Blessedly, Dori quickly caught on to Bilbo’s discomfort and took to loudly introducing him as, “The Company burglar, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire” with a strange glee to his voice.

After browsing six or so shops though, Bilbo quietly said that he was going to make his way back to their lodgings, feeling that he had gotten enough social interaction to last him for at least a month. Dori had studied his face after he said this, and then nodded, trusting Bilbo to find his way back to the house.

Bilbo however, was not ready to go back inside.

Alone, Bilbo meandered around the town, paying more attention to where his feet fell than his surroundings. It felt nice to move again, and while he could have done without the constant feeling of being watched, he did enjoy the exercise. Finally, he found himself near the docks of what must have been the northern end of the city. Plopping down on the edge of the walkway, Bilbo stretched his pleasantly sore legs and stared up at the Lonely Mountain in the distance.

Bilbo narrowed his eyes at the huge chunk of rock. Thorin’s family home and the Company’s homeland lay inside that mountain, as well as a dragon that might or might not still be guarding the treasure hoarded there. Bilbo was glad to have made it this far and to remain mostly whole and hale in the process, but the last leg of this journey was most likely to be the one to kill them.

Not for the first time, Bilbo wondered just what the hell he was doing here. What place did a hobbit have in a quest like this? How was someone supposed to go up against a dragon when they couldn’t make their way through a crowd of people unaided?

The thought soured Bilbo’s mood, and he looked back to where his feet dangled a ways above the water, feeling as though he had lost some sort of staring contest with a mountain of all things.

Pursing his lips, Bilbo thought back on what he _had_ done up until now. He had gotten through trolls and spiders intent on eating him, orcs and wargs eager to maim the entire Company, elves content with leaving them underground under lock and key to rot, and a trip down the Forest River that he never wished to repeat. All of those things combined couldn’t hold a candle to killing a dragon, and Bilbo was starting to doubt that was even possible in the first place. Bilbo let out a huge breath and set his chin into his hands, staring blankly over Long Lake and letting his thoughts curl angrily in his head.

It was Bifur and Bofur who found him awhile later, surrounded by a gaggle of chattering fauntlings. Since they weren’t hobbits Bilbo supposed that the correct term would be kids, but their rambling enthusiasm reminded him fondly of the groups of hobbit younglings that were so easy to trip over in any corner of the Shire. This particular group seemed fixated on the ax in Bifur’s head, following the duo as they made their way through the town and loudly making up wild stories as to how it got there with the dwarves neither confirming nor denying each ridiculous yarn.

“Bilbo!” The exclamation made Bilbo turn to see Bofur jogging up to where he sat, a relieved smile on his face, “We’ve been looking for you!”

Bilbo smiled back. “I just walked around town for awhile. I was getting a bit restless.”

Bofur flopped down next to Bilbo, “I can see why you would! Óin was insisting that you could only take so long on your feet.”

Bilbo huffed, “I’ve been handling myself fine, he’ll be glad to know.”

As he settled on the other side of Bilbo, Bifur grumbled something out in response that made Bofur chuckle out, “Right you are. If worryin’ were a salve on its own, his patients would live till the seas dried up.”

The three shared a laugh as the children edged in closer, trying to find out more about the newcomer.

One of the bolder children tugged on Bifur’s sleeve and asked, “He’s got no shoes! Isn’t he gonna get splinters?”

Bilbo started and tucked his feet under the dock’s edge, but Bofur interjected, “He’s a _hobbit_ , little lass, they’ve got feet thick enough to go through the mountains without ‘em!”

Almost immediately the girl’s eyes swung to Bilbo and she whispered, “ _You’re_ the hobbit! Mother was talking about one of the small folks bein’ in town! Did you really fall asleep at the Autumn feast?” 

Bilbo felt an embarrassed laugh worm out of his chest at that. “Yes, that was me,” he admitted.

Over the resulting giggling Bofur proclaimed, “Aye, and it’s this here hobbit who got us out of the smelly dungeons of Mirkwood.” Bilbo ducked his head at that.

“Really? You’re so small though!” the girl at Bifur’s arm gasped.

Bilbo nodded and softly pointed out, “That makes it easy to hide.”

The girl sat back and considered Bilbo’s words before she asked, “Is that how my little brother always gets out of chores?”

Again, Bilbo found himself laughing and responding, “Perhaps!”

The group stayed awhile there, joking and telling stories and Bilbo felt his foul mood slip away. Eventually the children drifted away, needing to get back to their families or simply losing interest in conversation, and the two dwarves were left with a hobbit squeezed between them.

Bifur had just wrapped up a story about his first day in the mines (with Bofur translating as best he could), and the three slipped into a comfortable silence. Staring up at the mountain again Bilbo was overcome with a sense of foreboding. Softly, he asked, “Do you think that we’ll actually do it? Reclaim the mountain?”

Bofur hummed and rubbed as his moustache for a few moments. “I think that if there’s a will to do something, there’s a way. And even if we do end up as kabobs for a fire-breathin’ lizard, then at least getting here was an adventure fit for history books.”

Bilbo furrowed his eyebrows out at the water, but said nothing. Bifur mumbled something sounding reprimanding which made Bofur sigh and continue talking.

“Truth be told, the Ur line has always been miners. It’s certainly not a… well-off trade, but it’s not to be disrespected.” Bofur chucked here, “I mean— how else are ya supposed to get the ores and gems you wanna work with? It’s important, but no one wants to do it.” Bilbo hummed in agreement.

“However, it’s not something you can support a large family on and with Bombor’s wife, Dilys, expectin’ her fourth, we were barely scraping by. And once Bifur got—” Bofur made a vague hand motion towards his forehead, “it suddenly got a lot harder to find work for him. Money was getting tighter than ever, and we weren’t sure how we’d make it through the winter.”

Bofur sighed and leaned back, “So when Thorin came to us to ask about maybe retakin’ Erebor, we signed up. Even a fraction of one fourteenth of Erebor’s riches could do our family good for a few centuries. And if we don’t get that far, well… The royal family has treated us right, so if we don’t return, Bombur’s family will be under the wing of Princess Dis.”

Bilbo cocked his head and silently looked at Bofur. A huge grin overtook Bofur’s face, “Princess Dis, she’s Thorin’s sister.”

Beside him, Bifur barked out a fond laugh. Bofur took off his hat and pressed it to his chest. “Ooh, she’s a gem. Never have I met a fiercer dwarrow,” he solemnly said, “She’s got a gaze harder and prettier than any diamond and a right hook that could win her any bar brawl. Anyone able to put Thorin in his place is fiery indeed, but to do that _and_ rein in Fili and Kili on a daily basis is almost a miracle in itself. It must make any council meeting look like child’s play.”

Here, Bifur said something to which Bofur responded, “Aye, the whole settlement adores her and fears her equally. And for a good reason; she’ll make a formidable ruler. Maybe you two could meet after this whole mess clears up.” 

Bilbo nodded absentmindedly, “If she’s half as fierce as you say, she should have led this Quest.”

Bofur nearly burst a gut laughing at that. “Oh laddie, she tried! And she should have, in my opinion. But Thorin— he’s not a politician as much as a warrior and the council of the original Blue Mountains settlement would’ve eaten him alive if she left.”

Bilbo hesitated, but finally agreed with Bofur. Thorin was most definitely prone to speaking out of emotion rather than logic.

At this, Bofur hefted himself to his feet and stretched. “I’m famished! I’m going to head back to the house and find something to eat. No doubt Bombur’s takin’ advantage of the kitchen here and I wouldn’t want to miss that. You comin’?”

Bifur shook his head and gestured out towards the water, to which Bofur nodded and then turned his attention to Bilbo.

Struggling to his feet, Bilbo was suddenly aware of why Óin might have not wanted him to strain his legs that much. Bofur thankfully, didn’t comment on the stagger in Bilbo’s gait as the two made their way slowly back through the winding alleys to the door of the house where, as Bofur predicted, Bombur had taken control of the kitchen where he had cooked up a “good hearty meal” that looked enough to feed a small army of Tooks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again and thanks for reading! I hope you liked this chapter as much as I like writing it. The next chapter is coming up really quickly, so keep an eye out for that.
> 
> This chapter was edited by the fabulous ao3 user ThirdWavePorrimist (aaaarg she's so great!).
> 
> Comments, constructive criticisms, questions, and pretty much anything you can type into the comment box and then submit are appreciated.


	17. Confess (yes, like that)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin gets something off of his chest and the Company finally, _finally_ heads off to Erebor

Days in Lake Town passed in a bit of a blur. While it was easy for Bilbo to slip into a routine of eating his fill, wandering about and sleeping to his heart’s content, he could feel a nervous energy among the group that only mounted with each day. The Company was getting jittery, and by extension, so was Bilbo.

Thorin seemed to delight in this energy; he now walked with a confident swagger in his step and his voice seemed to fill up every room he was in. However, there were many nights when Bilbo was able to see past that bravado.

Those nights, Thorin would slip into Bilbo’s room after dinner and stay there long into the night. Some nights they were quiet, content only in each other’s company. Other nights, the two would talk for hours over whatever struck their fancy. Some of these times they would swap stories of their childhoods and gossip about the other members of the Company. Thorin had also taken to telling Bilbo about the arrangements he was making for their trip to Erebor, huffing dramatically about this merchant and whining about another.

Other nights however, thoughts of Erebor hung like a cloud over Thorin’s mind and he confessed that he simply did not know how his homeland could be a few days of travel away and impossibly far at the same time.

To be honest, Bilbo didn’t know if Thorin would or _could_ talk to any of the other Company members about his doubts. He was their born leader after all, and any second thoughts he voiced could easily set back the Company’s mood. Perhaps that’s why Thorin would rather seek out Bilbo than his advisor, his shield brother, or even his own nephews of all people. Perhaps Bilbo was a confidante of convenient neutrality.

Despite his slightly sour feelings on the matter, he held Thorin’s confidence dear to him.

For you see, the nights Bilbo spent with Thorin and his troubled thoughts were also the most tender. Those were the nights that their casual touches turned a bit more deliberate and their gazes held for a bit longer than strictly necessary. Thorin’s knees would come to rest against Bilbo’s like they belonged there, the dwarf would often drape himself over Bilbo, and during particularly harrowing conversations their fingers would twine and squeeze for reassurance.

Bilbo enjoyed these nights, even if they thoroughly proved that the torch that he carried for the dwarven King was nowhere near extinguished.

It was irritating really, while they were obviously close enough to share their thoughts freely with each other, Bilbo simply was not satisfied.

The thought made him cringe; Thorin had already spent hours every day with him, talking to him, touching him, and yet, Bilbo wanted more. The thought made Bilbo want to curl up in his bed and never come out. He was selfish, he knew, but—

There was the way candle light turned the premature grey at Thoin’s temples silver. There were the small motions he made with his hands when he talked. There was the intensity with which he weighed each of Bilbo’s words. Each of these things made Bilbo almost forget that he had ever spent time longing for his smial.

The day that they left up the river towards the mountain was overcast with the threat of rain. Early morning mist clung to the edges of the lake and all in all, it was a dreary way to start off their ascent.

Bilbo made himself home in the third boat being used to haul them up to the base of the mountain, opting to keep their packs company instead of squeezing in one of the other two boats which were jam-packed with dwarves. Rubbing at his eyes, Bilbo huddled down further in his seat, intent on ignoring the water _right there_ and getting some more sleep in while he could.

When the boat bobbed and rocked suddenly Bilbo’s eyes snapped open and he saw that Thorin had decided to join him. Thorin plucked his way up to the row man perched at the stern, exchanged a few words, and then settled into the space next to Bilbo.

If any of the gathered crowd of townspeople had anything to say about the seating arrangement, they said nothing about it. However from the boat next to them, Dwalin yelled something in Khuzdûl (as Bilbo had learned it was called) that made every dwarf laugh uproariously, sans Dori who let out a squawk of indignation. Thorin’s retort only made the Company laugh harder and Dwalin throw a lewd hand gesture his way.

Bilbo found himself chuckling at their antics as the group pushed off amid the yelling of people of Lake Town. Uncharacteristically, Thorin did not speak to them but only stood and waved as the crowds passed until he was out of sight of the docks.

Once the shouting had faded, Thorin sat back amid the canvas packs and water skins that had been provided for them and the two fell into a silence. 

“Shouldn’t you be at the head of the boats?” Bilbo finally asked.

Thorin grunted, “There’s no need. Dwalin can stuff his presumptions.”

The hobbit blinked and ventured, “…presumptions?”

Here, Thorin seemed to lose control of his speech for a bit.

“He— ah, he implied that I— He… might have made some… _assumptions_ about the nature of our relationship.”

Bilbo said nothing, but tried to ignore the feeling of his stomach sinking. Did Dwalin know how Bilbo felt about Thorin? The silence hung thick and prickly between them.

Thorin was turned resolutely away from Bilbo, his back hunched and his hands clasped right enough to turn his knuckles white. “He— He accused me of being- of being more interested in my _bed-warmer_ than taking a position at one of the bows.”

Before he could check himself, Bilbo barked out a harsh laugh at the irony. If only! A moment of recklessness overtook him and a damning question slipped out of his mouth without permission.

“Is that what you want from me?”

Thorin choked on his own tongue and Bilbo slapped his hands over his face, feeling his face light up.

Why did he say that?! How could he have just—

Trying to fill up the space between them, Bilbo frantically spit out any words that came to mind.

“Not that that would be a bad thing! It’s just, I had no idea that’s what others thought! And— and— and as your friend I don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea or— or—” In an embarrassing wheeze, Bilbo’s voice died off and he floundered in the wide-eyed look Thorin was pinning him with.

“Bilbo…” Thorin spoke slowly, as if sounding out each of his words, “I actually have a question concerning that.”

Bilbo found the blood drain from his face. Oh Eru, oh Eru he was not ready to have this conversation. He had only just become friends with the dwarven king; he didn’t want to be pushed away so soon.

Thorin took a huge breath in through his nose and started, “Bilbo Baggins, I would be honored if you—” he stopped, looking frustrated, but started again, “I wish to court you. I have no gifts to give you as I have neither a forge nor a smithy, but if we reclaim Erebor I would want the first piece made in its halls to be for you.”

“I… oh…” Bilbo’s thoughts shrieked to a halt Without noticing, he lowered his hands down to his lap. 

“Isn’t courting for… for Ones?” Bilbo breathed, not sure which answer he dreaded more.

“Yes.”

“So… this means… I’m your…?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

The two turned to stare out over the water for a long while, neither really sure where to go from there.

Finally, Bilbo whispered, “Are you sure?”

Thorin replied softly, “Yes, I am sure. I would understand if you do not accept by suit, as you might find me similar to… to Sadoc.”

Bilbo was at a loss for a few moments before he remembered the conversation in Mirkwood right before the whole nonsense of being captured had started.

_“I swear, you’re looking for an excuse not to like them, Sadoc!”_

Bilbo swallowed, “No, no it’s not that. It’s just— I’m a hobbit, and an odd one at that. I’m nervous and withdrawn and- and I’m a bit…” Bilbo searched for the right word for a few seconds. 

“Damaged. I’m a bit damaged.”

His own words were a bitter but necessary pill to swallow. Bilbo was not made of the stuff that kings fell in love with. Almost distantly, he felt his breathing speed up and his chest tighten. This had to be some sort of mistake. Was this some sort of odd dwarven gratitude or— or a jest?

Bilbo opened his mouth to ask but found that he could not speak around the knot in his throat or with a set of empty lungs. Trying to get ahold of himself, he sucked in a huge breath only to let it out as a wave of panic slammed into him.

Hysterically the thought slipped into his head that apparently fighting spiders the size of horses with a letter-opener was less terrifying than _speaking of his thrice-damned feelings_.

Bilbo curled in on himself, pressing his forehead to his knees and clenching his eyes shut, drawing the deepest breaths that he could, and praying that this attack wouldn’t take too long to pass.

And pass it did, slowly and surely with the world filtering back in piece by piece.

The press of the packs to his left side and the warmth of another body to his right came first, the wood under his toes, the rough cloth against his face, and the cool air against the nape of his neck followed that. The smell of wet wood and leather and the rippling of water came last until Bilbo finally felt back in his own body. His gasping fading out, Bilbo opened his eyes and consciously loosened the muscles in his back one by one until he felt like he could sit up straight.

Bilbo felt embarrassment well up and push tears out from behind eyelids. Furiously, he scrubbed at his eyes and took a bracing breath inwards.

“Sorry,” he whispered, hating how shaky his voice sounded.

Thorin stayed quiet for a long while, before softly asking, “Is now a bad time to talk about this?”

The laugh that came from Bilbo at that grated even his own nerves. “It’s no worse than any other time.”

Thorin’s hand came to rest on Bilbo’s knee and squeezed. The familiarity of the gesture was not lost on either of them.

Slowly, Thorin started speaking. “Dwarves are stubborn as the stone we were made from, myself included. We are— I can be abrasive and often fail to see what is right in front of me and put my anger before my wits.” Thorin turned his body more towards the hobbit. “But when dwarves find their One, they _know_. And I know you, Bilbo. You are my One.”

Thoughts awhirl, Bilbo unwittingly leaned into Thorin, who leaned right back to brace Bilbo upright. 

Unaware of Bilbo’s frenzied thoughts, Thorin continued, “You are bright, child of the kindly West and brave enough for ten battle-tested dwarves. You have given me more loyalty than I can repay and damaged or not, there is no part of me that I would not give to you.”

Before Bilbo could get in a word edgewise, Thorin bolted upright and blurted out (appearing more nervous than Bilbo had ever seen him), “I understand should you refuse! My past behavior towards you was unacceptable and this is likely too sudden and a large commitment to ask of you— ”

“Thorin,” Bilbo murmured, and the dwarf’s jaw snapped shut and his eyes slid back to where his hand rested on Bilbo’s knee. 

Bilbo was not sure what to make of all this. While he did want what Thorin offered, something made him hesitate. 

Thorin was in no way a level-headed or forgiving person and he tended to snap at others when frustrated. These facts unsettled Bilbo greatly. He could so easily see Thorin lashing out at him, be it now or later, for refusing him. And while he certainly was civil and tender in their conversations now, Bilbo knew how that could change with time. Furthermore, if Sadoc was enough to warrant a healer on more than one occasion, Bilbo could only imagine what Thorin could do to him.

But Bilbo would be lying if he said he didn’t want Thorin.

Bilbo wanted Thorin’s warm, broad hands, to know his favorite pastries, that dry humor that so rarely came out, the smiles he saved for family… Really, the list of things Bilbo wanted from Thorin was longer than he cared to admit.

Bilbo took a huge breath and decided that the only way to do this was to get it all into the open at once.

“Thorin, I— I accept your suit. But, if I am to court you, I need a way out. I know that’s not something that— that might be favorable for this One business, but if things turn out to be… that I need a way out, I have to have that. You understand?”

Thorin’s response was immediate, “Of course, I will have Balin draw up a—”

“No,” Bilbo interrupted, “No contracts. I won’t have others involved in my personal matters.”

At the conflicted look on Thorin’s face, Bilbo conceded, “You may draft one yourself, but nothing as absurd as the one you had me sign back in the Shire.”

With a solemn nod, Thorin replied, “As soon as I have the supplies, it will be done.”

The two fell into a silence that Bilbo could not read until Thorin spoke up, “So that was a yes?”

Bilbo burst out laughing at that. “Yes! It’s a yes.”

Thorin let out a wheezing breath and leaned his forehead to Bilbo’s shoulder. “Mahal…” he whispered, “I never thought you’d agree.”

“I never thought that you would ask.”

“You were the only one, it seems. I’m certain there’s a betting pool among our friends,” Thorin snickered.

Bilbo snorted at this, “I’m guessing it’s Nori’s fault.”

“He was the one to start the pool concerning you joining the Quest.”

“There was a pool for that?”

Thorin leaned back a bit, a soft smile resting on his lips. “Yes, and Gandalf cleaned up nicely.”

Bilbo felt a twinge of irritation at that. “Of course he did, damn wizard.”

Thorin chuckled at that but said nothing. 

Almost naturally, Bilbo slipped his hand over Thorin’s, who in turn adjusted to lace their fingers together. Content, Bilbo hummed at the feeling.

This was a good thing, he told himself.

And against all odds, Bilbo kind of believed that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awwww man, aw man aw man aw man I've been looking forwards to this chapter since I started BL over a year ago and it almost ended up writing itself (hence why it's out after only a week...). I hope you lovelies enjoy it!
> 
> This chapter was edited by the lovely, witty, talented and all-around fabulous ao3 user ThirdWavePorrimist.
> 
> Anything you have to say about this story, I'd LOVE to hear so if you're so inclined scroll down to the comments section and let me know what you're thinking!
> 
> 5/3/17 EDIT: Boy Howdy I'm gonna get to new stuff soon. I'm super pumped!! Also I'm noting that a lot of my editing has become shortening and deleting and streamlining and pruning all the dang adjectives I use... Also more paragraph breaks.


	18. Tap It (oh that came out wrong)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo loses a staring contest with a rock. Somehow this isn't the low point of his day.

The way through the Desolation of Smaug and then up western side of The Lonely Mountain was an inhospitable one. All around them hung the reminders of what could possibly face them at the end of their journey: the refusal of the rowmen to take them into mountain's shadow, the scorched earth, the ruins of Dale. All seemed to serve as reminders for how wrong this adventure could go.

There were no trails, but the path that they took was had sparse vegetation but more than plenty of inconvenient rocks to trip on. The winds that battered the mountainside were fridgideven for the chilly autumn weather that the East seemed to favor. Despite their optimism when they left Lake Town, the going was slower and more tedious than any of the Company expected. 

They were not without their luck however. Quite by chance Fili and Kili stumbled across an old hewn set of stairs leading up the side of the mountain. Following these led to a particular patch of rock that upon inspection, Balin decreed “could be nothing _but_ the way in.”

Bilbo would admit that finding the ledge this “door” sat upon was certainly convenient, but something about it felt too easy.

They set up camp at the base of the stairs, as to not subject Bombur to as much nausea as camping right outside the door would have. They had a few scant days before Durin’s Day, and the Company spent most of it hammering futilely away at the entrance, if for nothing more than releasing frustration.

Bilbo was now taking his own stab at the door, by glaring at it with an ire he usually reserved for his more sticky-handed relatives. He found that the chance to brood was a welcome moment of quiet, even if not a relaxing one. If anything, _waiting_ for Durin’s Day made this leg of the journey much more nerve-wracking than it had to be, along with a few other stressors.

For starters, while the time he spent with Thorin going up the river had been a haze of quiet, heady warmth, the suddenness of Thorin’s confession had set him more off-balance than he would like to admit. It was certainly a happy development, but it left his with less time to think about matters soon at hand (i.e. how to become a dragon slayer when your only weapon was an elven letter opener).This being said, when they stepped off of the boat into an atmosphere of grim determination, Bilbo found the change jarring.

Almost immediately, Bilbo felt the pressure of his “duty” loom over him. Of all the steps needed to be taken to reclaim Erebor, actually stepping into the mountain would be the most important.

Also the most dangerous. 

Huddling down further into the blanket he had brought with him, Bilbo let his sour mood fester. As a general rule, Bilbo didn’t like being irritated, but the last few days had put him in a mood that he could not shake.

With his foul mood came a flurry of brickbats concerning the Quest itself. Chief among them was that while he did have a contract to fulfill and did want to see Thorin and his kith and kin happy where they belonged, a particularly vicious whisper in the back of his mind complained that he had already gone above and beyond his obligations as a member of the Company. Could someone else not face the dragon? Bilbo tried to drown out that thought, but it clung to him like a sodden coat, making him upset with both himself and anything that crossed his path.

The sound of crunching gravel broke Bilbo’s concentration and made him look up. Around the corner inched Bofur, hands full of bowls and bread. Keeping as far away from the edge as he could, the dwarf made his way to where the hobbit sat.

“Now what’re you up to up here, Bilbo? Awfully high place to find a manner o’ creature that usually lives in a hole in the ground.”

“It’s not a _hole_ it’s a _smial,_ ” Bilbo said with no heat as he plucked one of the bowls out of Bofur’s grip. Bofur muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “whatever you say.”

Bilbo heaved a sigh and picked away at the salted fish that Bofur had brought him, slightly relieved that it was anything but soup. Chewing slowly, Bilbo returned his gaze to rock that almost seemed to taunt him.

A shoulder bumped into his and Bilbo glanced over to where Bofur leaned against him, looking at the supposed doorway with an exaggerated scowl. A laugh forced its way out of Bilbo and the two settled back into a more companionable silence, still resting against each other.

“I…” Bilbo paused before saying, “I apologize if I’ve been sour lately.”

Bofur hummed thoughtfully before venturing, “Ya mean how the last few times I’ve found you you’ve been glarin’ down whatever’s in front of ya?”

Bilbo winced but Bofur continued, “I mean, I don’t blame ya. We kinda stuck you with the worst part of the Quest, with the dragon and all.”

Bilbo sighed, Bofur was uncannily good at reading him. “Yes,” the hobbit eventually replied, “with the dragon… and all.”

Bilbo looked over at Bofur, who was now staring off into space with the most pensive expression that he had ever seen the dwarf wear. Bilbo knew that Bofur’s family had so much riding on this success of this Quest. He knew that this was not only a promise of reclaiming a homeland, but also a way to ensure his family’s well-being. Despite this, Bilbo felt he had to say something. If anyone would listen, it would be Bofur.

“Bofur,” he started, “may I— may I be honest? About this Quest?”

Immediately Bofur hummed in the affirmative.

Taking in a deep breath, Bilbo admitted, “I feel like this— all of this is incredibly reckless. I understand that there’s a lot of risk with… reclaiming a mountain and all, but this all seems very haphazard.”

Bofur snorted in amusement, “You’re not the only one, laddie.”

“But everyone seems so sure.” Bilbo suddenly felt very foolish; perhaps Bofur was just humoring him.

Bofur set his bowl off to the side and leaned back as far as he dared, staying hyper-aware of the cliff edge that sat a few feet away. “I suppose we’re good at hidin’ it then. Half-arsed ideas and gut feelin’s are often all we’ve got to go on”

Bilbo mulled over the thought a bit. “I suppose that makes sense. But it seems… precarious in this situation.”

At Bofur’s silence, Bilbo backtracked hurriedly. “That was incredibly rude of me.I am in no place to say that!”

“Wha’? Laddie, no no no!” Bofur clapped a hand down the burglar’s shoulder, “You’re a part of the Company as much as any of us and ya should speak your mind about this.”.

“I’m just… worried that— that Thorin is acting hastily. I want to see him back in his homeland and I know that he isn’t going into this without his own doubts, but I’d rather see him and all of you safe and wandering rather than hurt or— or dead.” With this, Bilbo hunched further over his bowl, not sure just what he was bracing himself for.

“Aye…” This was the quietest that Bilbo had ever heard Bofur be. “You and me both. But we all have a contract to fulfill and Mahal willing, if dwarves hate one thing it’s an unfinished job. No matter how reckless it is in design.”

The hobbit nodded and both he a Befur returned their gazes to the entrance, now bathed in the orange of sunset.

They were startled out of their respective thoughts when with a burst of movement and a noisy flutter of wings, a thrush perched to the right of the door. The thing had been perching on that rock on and off for the few hours that Bilbo had been there, doing nothing but watch Bilbo.

Now, the bird clutched a snail in its black beak. Almost immediately, it began dashing the thing upon the stone.

_Tap-tap. Tap-tap. Tap-tap._

“Bofur… isn’t tomorrow supposed to be Durin’s day?” Bilbo felt something in his stomach sink past his knees.

“Aye… unless…” Bofur sucked in a breath. “Mahal’s flaming goats! The Men use a solar calendar! They **never** pin Durin’s Day right!”

Offering no further information Bofur sprinted off, shouting over his shoulder, “Keep an eye on that thrush! ‘E’s sure to show us the keyhole!”

Feeling his stomach sink, Bilbo did exactly that, remaining incredibly still and silent. His thoughts however were howling with how it wasn’t supposed to be like _this._ He was getting ready for this ordeal to happen _tomorrow!_ And now he’d probably be expected to just— just go on in with no further ado! Eru, his life would be so much easier if the damned thing would just—

As if hearing his thoughts, the thrush took flight, leaving its snail and Bilbo to stare, shocked, at the place where it used to sit.

Scant seconds later, a gaggle of dwarves rounded to corner, Thorin at its head.

“Bilbo!” Thorin yelled, “Where is it?”

Not liking the desperation in his tone, Bilbo shakily pointed towards the rock where the thrush had been. 

“It— it flew off,” he whispered, horrified.

There was a chilling silence and Bilbo could just feel every eye present trained on him. In the quiet, Bilbo could feel the weight of the unspoken accusation on his shoulders just pressing and pressing and— Oh what would Thorin do now?

As if to answer his question, Thorin thumped down where Bofur had just been. “There is still a chance that the Men predicted the day correctly. Bilbo and I will watch until the sun completely sets.”

Thorin’s face was severe, his jaw set and his eyes were hard enough to discourage even the slightest question.

With a promise from Fili to get them once the sun had come down, the rest of the Company shuffled down the slope. Bifur was the last to go, stopping at Bilbo’s side before he headed down. Clapping a hand down on Bilbo’s shoulder, he grumbled something that sounded like it was meant to be reassuring and then plodded his way after the rest of the group.

In the quiet between the two of them, Bilbo felt the disappointment come off of Thorin in waves. Oh Eru this was just cruel; anything that Thorin wanted to say to him could not be worse that the heavy silence.

“Bilbo…” Thorin finally murmured, “If this does not work—” Here, Thorin reached for were Bilbo’s hand rested in his lap, eyes never leaving the stone where the thrush had previously perched. 

On instinct, Bilbo flinched almost violently.

This gave Thorin pause, and after a good few seconds the dwarf brought his hand down to rest next to Bilbo’s, just barely brushing. 

The kind gesture threw Bilbo off; why would Thorin be this gentle when he had let their chance for getting into Erebor just flit away?

Bilbo could feel Thorin’s eyes on him as he said, “Birds startle easily, Bilbo. It was our fault for making our entrance so robust.”

The hobbit let out a breath that he did not know he was holding and listened to Thorin continue his thought.

“If it so ends that we do not reclaim Erebor, you will still be my One and we will all be in your debt. I would go where you wish.”

Bilbo looked over to Thorin, who in turn had his eyes set on the door into in mountain. The last damning dregs of sunset lit up the sky behind him, and on his face was a look so earnest it almost broke Bilbo’s heart. And it was then that he understood.

Bilbo would do this; he would do this for Thorin. It wasn’t because of any contract or sense of obligation that came out of this romance business, but rather was something much simpler.

Thorin deserved this. Thorin deserved his home. Thorin deserved to see his people back in their homeland. Fili and Kili deserved a kingdom. Bofur and Bifur’s family deserved the stability Erebor offered them. Bombur deserved to raise his children in plenty. Dwalin, Balin, Oin deserved to see the Erebor they remembered. Dori, Nori, and Ori deserved a chance to live out their passions. All of them deserved this for all that they had given Bilbo. And if Bilbo could be the one to give it to them, he would never be so cruel as to not even try.

Bilbo however, decided to keep that thought to himself and leaned into Thorin. “I understand,” he murmured. Thorin’s arm snaked around Bilbo’s middle and squeezed.

Unnoticed by either of them, the sun slipped down past the horizon. Night slowly unfurled across the barren land.

“Thank you,” Thorin answered lowly, “You don’t have to do this, you know. You have that choice and either way I will not push you.”

‘As noble as ever,’ Bilbo thought fondly.

Outwardly however he murmured, “…you want this.”

At this, Thorin bowed his head and his lack of an answer was answer enough.

“Then I’ll do it,” Bilbo murmured, “and what happens will happen.”

Thorin looked ready to argue, but instead just tightened his grip on Bilbo a bit more.

However the moment didn’t last as long Bilbo would have liked for as soon as they had settled in against each other, a rustle of wings near the rock-face broke their concentration.

_Tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap._

It was Bilbo’s time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goodness readers what a year it has been. My semester abroad in Japan ended up going great, even if it ate up more time than I would have liked and prevented me from actually sitting down and writing for more than an hour at a time. I'm so sorry for leaving you all hanging, but as a sort of last minute "good-fucking-bye" message to 2014 here's the new chapter!
> 
> I'm not sure if I like this chapter or not tbh. Writing it was like pulling teeth since the going was so slow and editing it on a whole was a bit of a nightmare, but I enjoyed when I was able to actually get thoughts down onto paper. Suggestions for drabbles, critiques, and comments are more than welcome!
> 
> I hope you enjoy it and more importantly, I hope that all of you have a wonderful 2015 that puts 2014 to shame.
> 
> EDIT 5/7/17: aw man aw man just a few more to go and then more content!!!


	19. Conversation (with a literal fire-breathing dragon)

The Company now stood around the daunting entrance that had been opened up in the mountainside. 

After the last shaft of light from the sunset had hit the keyhole, Thorin had sprung up from his seat. Hurriedly, Thorin had yanked the cord that his father’s key hung from over his head and jammed it into the keyhole before it could disappear. It was only after the key was harshly cranked the key to the left and something deep within the door clanked and slid that Bilbo noticed Thorin’s hands were shaking and his eyes were staring emptily into the stone, obviously deep in thought. “I’ll go get the others,” Bilbo had murmured, and scurried off before Thorin could say otherwise.

By the time that Bilbo had brought the others, Thorin had snapped out of whatever headspace that he had gone to. With hardly a word the dwarves collectively threw their weight against the stone slab and with a dry, thunderous scrape it slowly inched open to reveal the passage down into the mountain.

And now they stood in silence. The air was thick with what Bilbo knew was expectation. No longer able to stand the silence he piped up, “Well, I suppose it's high time for me to earn my reward.”

A few members jumped at his voice as if they had forgotten that he was there. Before his nerves could fail him, Bilbo started towards the doorway. A broad hand on his elbow stopped him, and he looked over to see Bofur.

The dwarf looked at Bilbo for a good long moment. “Dwarves are not heroes,” Bofur eventually murmured, “but we are calculatin’ folk and value our friends as much as our riches.Ya just have to go see what’s down there an' get out, but not a single one of us would want you to do this against your will. Some… some would even go with you.”

Bilbo looked around the circle of his companions. Fili and Kili were shooting each other glances and shifting from foot to foot, obviously biting down on something. The Ri brothers kept their eyes glued to the entrance, expressions ranging from scrutinous to mildly terrified. Bifur and Bombur both were focused on Bilbo, seeming to look for any sign of him not wanting to go, as were Balin and Óin. Glóin seemed to be trying to look anywhere than the entrance, hands fidgeting with his belt. Dwalin had his eyes trained on Thorin, who also peered down into the darkness of the tunnel into the mountain. Thorin looked especially torn, his expression bunched and sour as Bilbo had never seen it before.

“I’ll go,” Bilbo said, “I chose to go on this Quest and now I’m choosing to uphold my end of the Contract. And,” here Bilbo smiled sadly and looked at Bofur, “going alone would be the best for all of us. I’m the quietest after all.” Bofur looked at him for awhile longer before slowly letting go if his elbow.

“I can respect that,” he said before leaning forward and clapping both his hands over Bilbo’s shoulders, “But if it looks like you’re about to become a hobbit kebab you skedaddle right on outta there, ya hear?”

Bilbo said nothing, but nodded and started into the mountain. Right before the entrance, he stopped and gently reached for Thorin’s hand. “I’m not the same hobbit that ran out of his smial all those months ago,” he whispered low enough that no one other than Thorin could hear him, “Thank you for that.”

Not wanting to think about how final that had sounded, Bilbo brushed past Thorin and into the tunnel. “Good luck!” a voice cried behind him, but Bilbo did not turn as he was already fighting every cell in his body that wanted to go back.  
——  
The tunnel might as well have gone on for miles. For what seemed like hours, Bilbo walked with only his own baited breath and nervous thoughts for company in the suffocating darkness. The walls and floor were too smooth and straight for him to tell just how fast or in which direction he was going, but something in his gut told him that the path was gently sloping downwards.

And so down he went until the air around him began to take on an otherworldly orange glow and an unnatural heat. The change was so subtle that Bilbo originally thought that it was his mind playing tricks on him but soon enough, he could see the end of the tunnel and it seemed to pulse and shimmer with a low light. It was then that Bilbo reached into his pocket and slipped on the ring.

Immediately the world took on a ghostly hue. Even in the dark Bilbo was able to see the shift, and the feeling of having something just out of the corner of his eye came back with a vengeance. However he knew that under the ring’s protection, there was much less of a chance of being found by whatever lay on the other side of the exit. With his heart in his throat, Bilbo crept as quietly as he could to the end of the blasted tunnel. What he saw made him have to stifle his own gasp.

Bilbo would be the first to admit that he was impressed with Thranduil’s castle and its lofty walkways and canopies, but Erebor’s treasure hall was in a league of its own. The room was cavernous both literally and in the fact that Bilbo doubted that he would be able to see the ceiling and far walls even in better lighting. Cool, almost green rock made up the mazes of walkways, staircases and balconies winding through the simply enormous room. And the gold…

Bilbo now knew what Balin was saying when there were oceans of treasure beneath Erebor. For a moment Bilbo’s heart quickened with desire and he felt a feeling of enchantment come over him. And while that was all very impressive, Bilbo’s mind quickly moved from such issues as architecture and riches to a more immediate problem.

Smaug was in Erebor. And Smaug was _definitely_ alive.

The sleeping beast was huge and his scales were as deep a red as the legends Bilbo had heard. Lazy trails of steam rose from his nostrils and between his teeth a low snore could be heard from the wyrm. Even deep in sleep, Smaug seemed to almost thrum with power. 

Very, very slowly Bilbo crept along the walkway he was on before reaching a staircase, wanting to get a closer look. One step at a time, Bilbo descended, afraid that even if he was silent and invisible, simply disturbing the air could give him away.

Getting closer to Smaug, Bilbo took notice of the fact that Smaug’s exposed underbelly was not in fact covered in golden scales, but was literally encrusted with the gold that he had spent decades and decades sleeping on. Even from perhaps fifty feet away, the splendor of Smaug’s visage was not at all lost on Bilbo.

However Bilbo was so wrapped up in openly gaping at an honest-to-Eru dragon that when one foot hit the cool metal of gold instead of the rock of the staircase, he completely lost his balance.

And because Bilbo's luck did nothing in halves, he ended up sliding down, down, and down to the base of the hill of treasure. Around him cascaded a whole host of coins and jewels which grew to a louder and louder ruckus until he came to the bottom with such a great crash that Bilbo would later swear it rang up to the highest eaves of the treasure room.

With an icy grip around his heart and his breath frozen in his throat, Bilbo sat in shock as the clatter he caused stilled until it finally grew silent again. ‘How could I do something so **stupid**?’ he wailed silently. However, instead of the great roar of an infuriated dragon, the racket Bilbo made was met only with complete silence.

The snoring had stopped.

Smaug was awake.

Bilbo waited, stock still in his terror. Perhaps the old beast would simply go back to sleep, dismissing the racket as unimportant. Perhaps he was waiting for whatever intruder was in his lair to make a move so he could roast them on the spot. Perhaps it was already too late and Smaug was just playing with him.

So Bilbo did all that he could do; wait in petrified silence. Luckily for Bilbo however, while dragons are certainly a crafty breed, they are not patient.

“Well, thief! I smell you and I feel your air. I hear your breath. Come into the light! Help yourself, there is plenty to spare.” Smaug’s voice was surprisingly deep and rattled Bilbo down to his bones. The hobbit found himself unable to say anything, as he was too paralyzed by fear and the very real possibility that anything he would say would give up his location. Glancing about frantically, Bilbo almost shouted with relief when he saw that he had landed a stone's throw away from a mostly un-buried staircase that could get him back to the exit.

“Hmm… a quiet one then. Come on, don’t be shy. Speak.” At Smaug’s command, Bilbo suddenly remembered tales of how dragons simply hated being outright refused.

Gathering up the tatters of his courage, Bilbo took a deep breath and spoke, “Thank you for your invitation, O Smaug the Tremendous. However I- I am only here to have a look at you and see if the legends are true. I did not believe them.”

Bilbo heard the giant creature shift among his trove. “Do you now?” Smaug drawled, “How do I compare to these legends?”

‘Flattery,’ Bilbo coached himself, ‘Dragons are supposed to love flattery.’ Outwardly however, Bilbo slowly shifted to his feet and started edging towards the staircase. “They fall utterly short of your… splendor, O Chiefest and Greatest of Calamities.”

At this Smaug growled and Bilbo found himself wanting to cry. If only he could just reach the-

“You have nice manners for a thief… and a _liar._ ” Bilbo heard a great clamor as Smaug slammed his tail down on the last word for emphasis. “Your false admiration will get you nowhere here, I suggest being more _sincere—_ ” Smaug slammed his tail down again, “with me.”

Bilbo swallowed on nothing, quickly pulling together something that he could possibly say to stall Smaug enough to get out and to relative safety. “I- I apologize. I fear that I am just too struck by your might to be more articulate.”

Smaug let out a rasping chortle, “Such _nice_ and _empty_ manners. Tell me thief, you know of me, yet I have no memory of your scent. Who are you and where do you come from, may I ask?”

By this time, Bilbo had reached the stairs and had hefted himself up onto the first step. Feeling a bit foolhardy (as he had not been fried thus far) he slowly replied, “I come from the far West. I come from… from under the hills and over and under the hills my paths have led. I am he who walks unseen.” Bilbo just hoped that resorting to riddles would work for a second time on this blasted Quest and buy him some time.

“So I can believe,” Smaug replied, “But that is hardly your usual name.” With every step Bilbo climbed, another inch of the dragon’s head became visible over the frankly enormous pile of gold that Bilbo had hid behind.

“I am the web-cutter, the garden-dweller. I have dangled from cliffs, eagles, and the fingers of trolls alike and walked away.”

“Lovely titles,” Smaug sneered, “but I find your claims dubious.”

“Ah,” Bilbo conceded, “I was afraid you might, true as they may be.” In a sudden fit of recklessness, Bilbo gingerly knelt and plucked four gold coins from where they lay scattered at his feet and slipped them into his pocket. It would be so foolish of him not to really, being a burglar.

Smaug hummed, “What further titles have you acquired? Or should you simply give me your name?”

Straightening, Bilbo continued, trying to keep his voice relatively small and harder to pinpoint. “I am he who drowns his friends and suggests how to cook them but leads them out alive in the end. I come from the end of a bag and from in a bag, but no bag was brought over me.”

By the time Bilbo reached the platform to access the tinnel, all of Smaug’s head was in view and from what Bilbo could see, the wyrm was still looking to see just where Bilbo’s voice was coming from; Eru bless the acoustics of this hall.

“These do not sound so credible,” Smaug scoffed, slowly turning his head to scan the hall. Despite himself, Bilbo fumed at that.

“I am the guest of bears and beasts alike. I am- I am the Ring-winner and the Barrel-Rider.” Bilbo felt a bit more sure of this last riddle; he liked the way the last title rolled off his tongue.

Smaug apparently did as well. “Barrel-Rider,” the dragon repeated, “Well, _Barrel-_ Rider, I cast my thoughts to Lake-Town last night. I haven’t been down that way for an age and an age; but I will soon alter that!”

Bilbo sharply drew breath at this, and he saw Smaug’s angry slash of a mouth curl into a malicious smile. “Part of some nasty scheme of the Lake-men then, are you?”

Before he could respond, Smaug went ahead, sounding almost flippant. “In exchange for the excellent riddles I will give you one piece of advice. As if Lake-men are not bad enough, do not have more to do with the dwarves than you can help!”

Bilbo froze and he immediately felt a cold swear break out upon his brow. “Dwarves?” he asked, praying that he sounded confused enough.

“Don’t play at innocence.” Smaug spat, stooping down to the ground to look for Bilbo there. “I know the smell and the taste of dwarf better than most. I became well-acquainted when I cleared out this mountain, not to mention all of the… leftovers that were too slow to leave for weeks afterwards.”

At this, Bilbo felt physically sick but said nothing at Smaug reared back. “You’ll come to a bad end, if you go with such company, Thief Barrel-Rider. I don’t mind if you go back and tell them so for me. I suppose they are sulking outside and your job is to do all of the dangerous work and get what you can when I am not looking—for them?”

“They’re my friends,” whispered Bilbo, but Smaug continued to talk on, oblivious of the hobbit’s utterance. “And will you get your fair share? Don’t you believe it!” The laughter in the last bit made Bilbo’s insides squirm uncomfortably. 

Into the following silence Bilbo breathed, “You don’t know everything, O Smaug the Mighty. Gold alone did not bring us here.”

“Ha ha! My words have troubled you, thief. I am pleased to hear that have other business in these parts other than gold. In that case you may, perhaps, not altogether waste your time. I don’t know if it has occurred to you that even if you could steal my hoard— a matter of a hundred years or so— you could not get it very far. Not much use of it on the mountain side or in the forest. Bless me!” Here Smaug laughed, wily and wicked.

‘Perhaps,’ Bilbo mused, ‘It would be better to let him assume we are after his treasure. Although he does note how ill-prepared we are for this.’

Clearly not getting the response he desired, Smaug reared up onto his hind legs. “And even if you did steal enough to make ends meet, who would dare oppose me? Giroin King of Dale is dead and I have eaten his people like a wolf among sheep. Thror and his people have long deserted this mountain and it will stay that way. I kill where I wish and none dare resist me. I laid low the warriors of old and their like is not in the world today. Then I was but young and tender. Now I am old and strong, strong, strong!”

“My armor is like tenfold shields! My teeth are swords! My claws, spears!” With a dramatic flair, Smaug whipped his tail from side to side with each utterance, circling around as he did, still looking for whatever thief had come into his lair. “The shock of my tail, a thunderbolt! My wings, a hurricane!”

Smaug let his mouth open and from where Bilbo stood, he could see steam pour out from between truly vicious-looking teeth. “My breath, death!”

Despite the ferocity in the boasting, the distance between Bilbo and Smaug gave the hobbit the courage to squeak out, “I have always heard that dragons were- were soft in the chest region; but doubtless one so fortified has thought of that.”

Smaug stopped in his circling. “I am armored above and below with iron and gems,” he snapped, “No blade can pierce me.”

Scrabbling for anything, Bilbo played along. “I should have guessed,” he said, “Truly there is no equal to be found of you, Smaug the Impenetrable. What a magnificence it is to posses a waistcoat of diamonds!”

“Rare and wonderful indeed!”Bilbo could hear how pleased the wyrm was with this praise. “Look!” the dragon cried as he rolled over, “What do you say to that?”

Knowing that Smaug was fishing for compliments, Bilbo spouted whatever appropriate adjectives came to mind. “Marvelous! Perfect! Dazzling!” However, before he could get too far, Bilbo caught sight of one single patch over Smaug’s left breast that was as naked as a newborn. A glimmer of hope had shown itself to Bilbo and he decided that contract or no—enough was enough. He had only come to see what was down here.

“Well, I would hate to detain you any longer. I will let you get back to your rest. You will need it…” Bilbo stopped at the entrance of the tunnel and in a fit of courage added loudly, “given your old age and what with how easy it was to get in here.”

This, as you can imagine, was an awful idea on Bilbo’s part and the his start up the tunnel was barely enough to keep him from getting completely scorched by the flame the Smaug sent up after him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this chapter got away from me in both writing and timing. I really liked how Smaug turned out, so this chapter just kind of wrote itself!
> 
> If you like this fic or don't for whatever reason, please comment below to ask questions or give critique or just say hi! Thank you so much fo reading!


	20. Light (it up up up)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo goes in and out of Erebor, not exactly in that order and with a lot of displeasure.

Bilbo would mourn until his dying days just how much of the hair on his feet and been burnt off on his mad dash up the tunnel with Smaug’s furious roars and a ferocious breath of fire on his heels. The rest of the Company had been sharp and scrambled away from the entrance into the Mountain when they saw the approaching, fiery glow. With a yelp the hobbit barreled out of the damnable tunnel and dove to the side, closely avoiding the column of flame behind him.

Not wanting to explain the ring, as soon as he could, Bilbo ripped the thing off of his finger. The world came back with a disconcerting _whoosh_ and a sense of vertigo disorienting enough that it took him a few moments to realize how much of a smoldering mess his coat was. Syllables falling wild and loose from his lips, Bilbo smacked at the burnt area before remembering the trick his uncle had told him many years ago and rolled about on the ground.

“Never laugh at a live dragon,” were the first intelligible words that the Company got out of him once he had extinguished the small fires catching on his tail coats. 

“Never laugh— never mind that. Bilbo, let me get a better look at those feet of yours.” Óin muttered over Bilbo’s singed ankles as he bustled through the gaggle that formed around the hobbit, hands already darting to the satchel of herbs he kept at his side. “Someone go get some clean cloth, I might need to wrap a few of these blisters.” Óin’s bark sent Nori scrambling down to the camp.

“Sorry for the trouble,” Bilbo found himself murmuring as he sat up, in a slight daze. Oblivious to the exasperated mutterings that provoked, he watched blankly as Óin’s hands flitted about his feet.

A hand clamped down on his shoulder. Slowly, Bilbo looked up to see Thorin, leaving over him in a protective curl. “Are you alright?” he asked, somewhat redundantly.

“Well,” Bilbo sighed, taking stock of his situation, “I might not walk easy for a while. But I did just insult a dragon and got out alive.”

Disbelieving laughter broke out among the group. “Surely you didn’t,” Dwalin scoffed, “You’re nowhere near that foolish.”

Bilbo stared down at his feet, where Óin was now grinding together herbs in a small pedestal. “I called him old,” Bilbo whispered, the thought slowly catching up with him, “…and _slow_.” A great, wheezing breath of disbelief left the huge dwarf. “That would do it!” he guffawed, before stepping aside to let Óin through to pester Bilbo about how his feet were faring.

With this in mind, Bilbo’s attention was brought to just how quiet the waste-scape around them was, even for a desolation. “Thorin,” Bilbo twisted to face the dwarf who still hovered over him, “Thorin I do not like this silence. Smaug was- he was very angry. I am sure he knows we came from Lake Town, and that he thought _I_ was a Lake-man, even if he could smell dwarf about me. I have a horrible feeling about where he’s headed next.”

Thorin’s face turned grim, but before he responded Fili jumped in. “Is there anything we can do then? Something that can slow the beast down before he makes his move?”

“There’s a hole in his chest off to the left. Most of it is just covered in metals and gems but— but that one spot is vulnerable—” Bilbo started when at this the thrush that led them in took off.

“Start from the beginning,” Thorin insisted, dragging Bilbo’s attention back to the matter at hand “and tell us everything.”

Bilbo nodded shakily. “Of course but—” Thorin threw him an impatient look but Bilbo swallowed and continued, “Please let us move our camp more out of sight. Into the tunnel if we must. This silence deeply worries me.”

A smattering of agreements was heard around the group. “Go gather what you can carry,” barked Thorin, “Night is almost here and it would do us well to get out of sight while there is still some small light to go by.”

With this, all but Óin, Bilbo, and Thorin scrambled off, significantly less carefully than they had come. Glad to have that taken care of, Bilbo sighed, “Thank you, Thorin. I don’t want any more hurt because of me.”

Unbeknownst to Bilbo, Thorin glanced down at the burglar with a tender look and squeezed down on his shoulder a bit firmer.

Finally the Company shuffled what they could into the entrance of the tunnel. Óin had wrapped a few sections of the hobbit’s feet and the dwarves were quiet as Bilbo meticulously recounted just what he had seen and said once he reached the other end of the tunnel.

“And what of the treasure?” Glóin asked, “Is it as vast as some claim?”

Bilbo paused at this, suddenly remembering Smaug’s words about the motives of the dwarves. However, he would tell no lie and absently pulled the coins he picked up out of the pocket and handed them over. “It- it is certainly vast,” he murmured, watching Glóin inspect the coins, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a collection of _anything_ that big, much less riches and such.” A smattering of murmurs picked up around him at this.

“That’s very exciting and all but it’s hardly _practical_ ,” Balin huffed, “Now Bilbo, you said something about a weak spot.”

Sighing, Bilbo went back to retelling his tale again, down to the tiniest detail with Balin’s urging. The further he got, the more questions were thrown and him and he could feel himself shutting down despite how important he knew that this was. After that was done, he found himself content to curl up off to the side and passively watch the dwarves bicker among themselves.

Eventually their bickering over the best ways to take Smaug down turned more towards topics that Bilbo knew that would probably eventually come up: treasure. The older dwarves practically waxed poetic about pieces of dwarven finery that popped up in legend that were supposed to be somewhere among the piles and piles that lay at the end of the tunnel they were in.

“And what of the Arkenstone?” Ori murmured into a lull of the conversation, “I’ve heard many accounts of it, but never seen even a drawing of it.” This time, it was Thorin who spoke up from his seat between Fili and Dwalin upon seeing the confused look on Bilbo’s face. “The Arkenstone was taken as a sign by my grandfather that it was his rightful place to rule Erebor. It sat in the throne room for dozens of years before I was even born, and is an important symbol for our family’s right to rule.” Thorin let out a soft breath, and a strange gleam came to his eyes that Bilbo did not like.

“As I remember it, it seemed to have a thousand facets, and in every light it shone a different color. Any being, dwarf or otherwise, could recognize its beauty and be in awe of it.” Thorin paused, seeming to be lost in his own thoughts, before murmuring, “There are only a very few who would not go to great lengths to obtain it, both for its unmatched beauty and importance to the Line of Durin.”

Balin hummed low and long, “And that is only the greatest of all of the treasures in Erebor. There are rumors that there are weapons made for the armies of King Bladothin somewhere in the treasury.”

Bilbo listened with half an ear as more and more fantastical tales were murmured between the dwarves and suddenly found himself getting a little irritated. Bilbo had just risked his life for Thorin’s homeland, but the more that the dwarves talked about it the more he wondered if he had apparently just done it for the material rewards. Not wanting to make a scene, Bilbo heaved himself up and limped to the entrance to the tunnel. Leaning against the stone, Bilbo looked out pensively out over the crags and boulders at the sun setting to his left.

A sudden gust of wind made him shiver and huddle down into himself, now mourning the loss of his coat. Bilbo worried for Lake Town after the threats that Smaug put forward; he had never heard of a dragon making an empty threat. Almost as an answer to his concerns, the ponies began shrieking in terror down where they had left them, before the sound was cut brutally short. Bilbo felt his stomach drop.

“Smaug is upon us!” Bilbo cried, “Shut the door, _shut the door!_ ” 

Hands snagged on the back of his tunic and dragged Bilbo away from the entrance. In the resulting confusion someone was able to kick the rock propping the door open and with a long, loud scrape the door slid shut, leaving the Company in the dark.

And not a moment too soon. Around them the very stone of the tunnel seemed to rattle and shake like a fauntling checking to see how full their coins jar was. Dust rained from the ceiling and under the shouting that had started up was the definite sound of cracking all around them. A hand grabbed Bilbo’s forearm and started to drag him away from the doorway.

“This way!” Thorin called, close enough to Bilbo to make his head ring, “Before this section comes down on us!”

Through the darkness they all stumbled, blind and panicking, sprinting until they unexpectedly ran headfirst into the treasure room, which was without the glow that Smaug earlier provided. Backpedaling and making quite a commotion of themselves, the Company screeched to a halt falling over each other and shouting in confusion. More quickly than it ever had before however, their voices died down and in the air surrounding them Bilbo could almost taste the fear that radiated off them. None of them dared to move, none of them dared to speak, some of them found it hard even to breathe for fear of being caught by Smaug. As it became clear that Smaug was not still in the treasury, the company inched their way back up the tunnel until they reach the entrance, which for the life of them would not budge.

‘Caught between a rock and a fiery death,’ Bilbo thought bitterly as around him the dwarves slowly began sitting, slumped against the walls that now trapped them. The Company sat, and sat, and then sat some more in utter silence not knowing if it was safer to sit and starve or face whatever laid in wait in the treasury. Bilbo didn’t know how long they sat there, eating little and talking even less, and being caught between mind-numbing boredom and gut-wrenching fear. The hours passed slowly with no hint of light coming through the blocked entryway and with no sure way to tell time Bilbo found himself drifting in and out sleep; but for how long he had no idea.

Really, the only good thing that he could find about the situation was the constant warmth of Thorin pressed up against his side and even that was a small comfort in the dire situation they were in. Still, Bilbo supposed that that if there was a time to enjoy the small things in life, it would be when one is not sure how much longer that “life” would go on.

Finally, after what could very well have been days Thorin could take it no longer.

“I did not half drown myself in the The River Running to die in the face of a foe that might not even be there,” he murmured quiet enough for only Bilbo to hear, “I have to see if Smaug is still with us.” Thorin hoisted himself up, hissing at the others to stay put while he scouted ahead. The fear that Bilbo felt tripled once Thorin was out of hearing range; there was no way that he could expect to go unnoticed by a dragon who already knew the smell of Dwarf and showed no remorse in killing their type.

“I’m going after him,” Bilbo breathed as he too hoisted himself off of the ground, ignoring how his stiff muscles and feet complained at the sudden motion, “I’ve already dealt with a dragon once, I can do it again if need be.”

In the darkness, a rough, calloused hand shot out and grabbed hold of his own. It was too dark to make out anything other than the vague silhouette of whoever reached out to him, but Bilbo nodded at them anyway. “I’ll make sure he’s safe,” Bilbo murmured, and the hand tightened momentarily before slowing letting go, leaving Bilbo free to limp his way after Thorin.

Feeling his way down the walls of the tunnel, Bilbo tried to keep his mind on anything but what possible fates that Thorin had met along his way and instead focused on the pain in the soles of his feet. Speculation wouldn’t calm the anxiety that twisted incessantly in his stomach, and it certainly wouldn’t help him. Finally, the smooth stone wall under Bilbo’s touch gave way to empty air, and Bilbo was sure that he had reached the treasure room, which was still as dark as the tunnel that he had come out of.

“Thorin?” he ventured, disliking the way that his voice echoed around the cavernous room. Further down the walkway, Bilbo heard the frantic _tink-tink_ -ing of striking flint and the minimal light that was given off by the sparks illuminated Thorin, hunched down and facing away from Bilbo. Before he was able to say anything further, there came the distinct crackle of something lighting on fire, and Thorin’s figure became even more pronounced as he stood, with an obviously hastily crafted torch in hand.

The effect was immediate. The meager light of the torched bounced off of every surface, coin and jewel alike, and amplified the light tenfold- no- hundred-fold. The resulting glow was beautiful enough for even Bilbo to inhale sharply.

At the noise, Thorin turned, the bottom half of his tunic ripped and the strips burning slowly and wrapped tightly around a silver rod he must have happened upon. Seeing Bilbo, he smiled fondly and gestured the hobbit in closer. Once he reached Thorin’s side, the dwarf gestured to the room around him. “Mister Bilbo Baggins of Bag End,” he said, obviously trying to keep his voice solemn, but failing as a giddy smile overtook his features, “Welcome to my homeland, to the halls of Erebor!”

Around them, the cavern rang with their amused chuckling, even after Thorin’s poorly-constructed torch sputtered and gave out and plunged the room into darkness once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goodness readers what a few months that it has been. I'm sorry for taking so long to update, but as it does a lot, my anxiety decided that the last semester was a great time to kick in and make my life miserable. However now it's summer and even though I new have a full-time job, I'm hoping to get more time for writing over panicking over every professional and personal aspect of my life.
> 
> As for this chapter, it was a bear to write, and might seem like a bit of a filler chapter, but hopefully it will kick my creative drive into high gear. I hope you like it! Either way, comments, kudos, or the act of flailing at your computer screen are all encouraged. I hope to hear from you!


	21. UPDATE: NOT ABANDONED (+Ch21 preview)

Hi guys. I'm sorry for taking so long to get back to this fic. Between the last time I updated and now I've graduated from college, went through more than a few rough patches, moved half-way across the country, got a job that is honestly exactly what I want to do in the future, and am working on figuring out the whole "adult-ing" thing with varied levels of success.

So now that I've figured at least some things out and finally, FINALLY, have the time and energy to write beyond drabbles, I want to get back to this fic A LOT. I have many plans for it and even if I fell in and out of the fandom, this fic is my baby and I want to do it and all you readers justice bc y'all are great.

I'm going to be rereading and editing the chapters posted here to get back into the mood and to fix some grammatical and stylistic things that have been bugging me. Additionally, I have chapter 21 about half-way written and I'm hoping this editing will give me some ideas and make sure this chapter fits in with the rest of the narrative.

I want you all to know that I read every message and open every kudos notification that comes my way. I know it takes me an embarrassingly long time to get back to some of you and for that I apologize, but I appreciate each and every one. Thank you for supporting me and being patient with me when I wasn't able to do the thing you wanted me to.

-gfzoda

\---And now, a preview of chapter 21---

For the third night in a row, Bard the Bowman watched his home burn. Or at least, what was left of it. Over half of Lake Town had been taken to the bottom of the lake with Smaug’s wretched carcass. What was left standing of the waterlogged town was still burning slowly with the remnants of dragonfire, lighting up the surface of the lake an eerie orange.

Gone were the walkways that he had scampered over since he was a child, the docks where he made his living, the homes of everyone he cared for, the rooms where he raised his own children. Every thing that he had ever worked for was reduced to smoldering and/or soggy wreckage. Unhearing to everything that was going on around him, he sat, looking out over just what was left of his _home_. His children sat next to him, just as silent as he was. 

If it was not for the plans laid out years in advance in case of Smaug attacking, they would have likely perished. It was a victory, but too bittersweet for Bard to take anything but relief from. Their homes were gone. As were almost a fifth of his people.

This is what the King of Carven Stone had brought with him. If this was the price of the riches that were to come, Bard wanted none of it.


End file.
